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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030701">Nevermore</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleatoriae/pseuds/Aleatoriae'>Aleatoriae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Self-Insert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:13:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,829</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleatoriae/pseuds/Aleatoriae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What's the use of commiting suicide if it's to reincarnate instantly? That's exactly the problem of a three-years old girl, who kept all the memories from her previous life. I can hardly sum-up more without spoiling, but no worries. There's a logical explanation to all of that, and there'll be magic, Howgwarts, friendship and some funny moments.</p>
<p>Self-insert.<br/>Please mind the tags, trigger warning: self-harm, mention of rape, and well, the character died by suicide, so you have to expect suicidal thoughts.<br/>Apart from that I hate Mary-Sues, so nothing like that here. My fic is trying to be as realistic as possible in a wizarding world.</p>
<p>Cross posted on ffnet, translation from my own fic "Jamais plus"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Waking up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi, this is the first work I'm publishing on this website, I hope you'll like it.<br/>This is a translation from a fic I started publishing on ffnet a while ago, and there's already 9 chapters translated (32 published in French), so no worries, I should be able to publish regularly. (It'll mainly depend on how many people seem to care about the fic tbh)<br/>This is just a small prequel, and I found my beta reader a few chapters later, so pardon my potential mistakes^^</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>« But I am damned <br/>If life itself is condemnation<br/>I am immortal<br/>Thus my freedom is captivity »</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Kamelot-Across the highlands</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>          I'm slightly older than three when I “wake up”. My memories, until now parcelled out, finally stabilized. I remember. I know. Although one thing remains a mystery to my eyes. How comes I'm still living? This, and all the related questions. The three last years passed by without my awareness, or almost. My young brain, brand new, assimilated English at a crazy rate. My body learnt, step by step (litterally, lol.), how to walk. I'm a healthy and functioning baby. I'm three years old. I'm living in London. My parents are quite wealthy. I don't really know what they do as a job, but they're rarely here. It's a governess that takes care of me, most often. She also maintains the house. House that is not exactly huge, but definitively not the kind that my parents-my former parents-could have afforded. I only have a vague idea of what those three last years have been. My consciousness is remained asleep, my “awoken” phases lasting more and more, until today. When I woke up this morning I remembered this other life, when I was French and was c</span>
  <span>alled</span>
  <span> Aurore*. The life where I died when I was seventeen. The last thing I can precisely remember, except today, is the moment I let myself fall when the pain caused by the poison became unbearable, giving me the momentum I needed to jump from the building. I remember. I remember everything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's three o'clock. The governess picks me up in the room where I was supposed to nap. It's time to go to the park. I surprise her by insisting to walk without her help, refusing to hold her hand. I notice that I lost my short-sightedness when reincarnating. First good news of the day… The still hesitating balance of my body confuses me a bit, but I know I won't have to endure it for too long. The governess, Mrs Winston, as I learn from her annoying “So, who is going to the park with Mrs Winston?” said in a “baby voice”, is a white lady in her fifties. She has generous shapes and a hopping step.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>          I surprise her again when I prevent her from following me in the toilets, and she doesn't find anything better to do than applauding when she finds out I managed by myself. Apparently she's impressed by my amazing achievement. </span>
  <span>Finally, we go out of the house and cross a first road to head to the park. The neighbourhood we're in is clearly wealthy. The private houses aren't adjoining and their small wannabe gardens could almost really deserve the name “garden”. Everything is peaceful and the sun shines in the cold but clear winter sky (and here I thought it was always raining in England). A hundred more meters suffice to reach to a quite wide boulevard, with a lot of cars. It's now or never.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The traffic light is red. I have to look normal. She didn't think about taking my hand when we got closer to the boulevard. I see a truck travelling towards us, quite fast. I don't pause to think about the pain or what will my new “parents” think. I'm not even sure any of this is real anyway. I tweet, perfect impression of an enthusiastic baby, and rush in the park's direction just when the truck is about to pass in front of us at full speed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>*Aurore is a French name that translates into “dawn”.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Course of action</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys,</p>
<p>Here's already the second chapter, because I'm nice (and received a kudo).</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>        Reacting with a vivacity I'd never have expected from her, Mrs Winston catches my arm and violently pulls me towards her just when the truck was about to run over me. I fall on my back and the baby inside of me starts crying by reflex. I let go, too shocked myself to do anything. Somewhere in my head I'm blessing this natural reflex that will contribute to make this look like an accident. Who would imagine that a three years old is trying to kill herself, anyway? Mrs Winston, panicked, hugs me tight. I hate her touch, but the frantic beats of her heart allow me to get my head together. I set myself in autopilot, I don't have time to really collect my thoughts for now. Eventually, she lets me go and examinate me. I scorched my arm when I fell. She reprimands me, then tries to carry me home. I don't let her do, and move in every direction until she lets me go back to the ground <span>and walk on my too short legs. This time I can't escape her hand, that holds mine gently but firmly.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>        Once we're home, she disinfects my wound and puts a band-aid without me saying against it. Which toddler would? She congratulates me for my bravery, because I didn't cry. Then she </span>
  <span>repeats me a last time to be careful before installing me in front of the TV to watch cartoons. After ten minutes of a series “for little good girls” full of candy pink, dolls and old men that are certainly paedophiles I'm sure of one thing: Mrs Winston is an evil being fully dedicated to make this… second life hell. Apparently preventing me from dying wasn't enough for her. After fifteen minutes she brings me a snack formed of big glass of milk and a banana. I eat everything, then tell her I don't want to watch the TV </span>
  <span>any more. She offers to read me a story, but I ask her if I can draw instead. She brings me paper sheets and coloured pencils, and I spend two good hours trying to control my right hand, than the left one, and find out that even if I feel more comfortable with the right one, there's no huge difference. Perfect! I can become ambidextrous if I train! I shake my head at that thought. As if I'd live for long… But instantly, another though, chilling, imposes itself on me: If I didn't die the first time, what grants me the second attempt will work?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>        Mrs Winston isn't far, so I push this thought back with the others, in a corner of my head. I'll think about it later, when I'll be alone. </span>
  <span>My parents aren't coming tonight, and at some point I can finally lie down in my bed, exhausted from fighting the governess to be allowed to wash myself alone. She insisted on verifying, and I really hope what she saw convinced her that I could manage alone in the future. I try really hard to forget what I felt, naked while she was examining me and rather focus on the most important, respectively my unpleasant and unplanned resurrection. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>        For what I know, no matter how absurd this sentence is, I was born on the very same day I killed myself. I don't remember anything after the moment I jumped from the roof. I was never interested in all those reincarnation stories, never was fascinated by eternal life. I know vaguely the karma stories, but I doubt it makes sense in my case. I don't see how my deeds, in my previous life, could have allowed me to reincarnate richer and here, for instance. I don't know if what happened to me is a first, but in any case it's in the best case extremely rare. I wasn't really interested in the topic, that's right, but the world would know if people would remember living another life before in full detail. Oh, I'll have to check by the way if the life I remember really existed. I don't really doubt it, but a quick internet search would allow me to be certain. In any case, I didn't have such memories in my first life, and I never met anyone in my case. So I guess I have good odds to succeed to die at my next attempt, as long as I plan it a bit instead of panicking as I did earlier. Unless I'm special and can't die at all. In that case I could work on </span>
  <span>fry my brain until I can't have a conscious thought any more. Well, if I was resuscitating again, I'd maybe have three quiet years before having to remember again, that's already something.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>        For now anyway, I don't want to tempt fate at the risk to resurrect again and lose years before being able to make my researches. Although if after some time I don't find anything then I could as well try again. I won't bear the memories and the nightmares for a lifetime. I'm strong enough to do it all over again. First thing to do is checking if my memories are real. Then, do research on reincarnation and resurrection myths and look for testimonies, see if someone already lived (and re-lived) similar things. I don't plan on talking about all of this to anyone: if no one was trustworthy in my first life, how could I confide in anyone now, especially with this body and this background?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>xxx</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>        « Mes parents m'ont appelée Aurore, ils auraient dû m’appeler Crépuscule. L'aurore, c'est le début de quelque chose de brillant, c'est l'éblouissant recommencement du jour. Alors que moi, je ne fais que m'éteindre, et je n'aspire à rien. Et même si dans la nuit les étoiles brillent, elles sont froides et figées, comme ce qu'il reste de moi. Elles finiront dans une explosion, elle disparaîtront. Comme moi. Oh, ces lueurs si lointaines qu'il me faudrait encore saisir, si ce sont les espoirs que les gens louent ! Mais l'espoir est toxique, l'espoir est l'Ennemi. Je suis Crépuscule. La lumière qui disparaît, le silence qui s'installe. La promesse d'une nuit sombre, et le repos, enfin »*</em>
</p>
<p>-<span>Extract from a notebook belonging to Aurore Berger, written three months before her death-</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>*”My parents called me Aurore (Dawn), they should have called me Crépuscule (Dusk). Dawn, it's the beginning of something bright, it's the blinding new start of the day. While me, I'm just shutting down, and I'm not striving at anything. And even if the stars are shinning in the night, they're cold and frozen, like what's left of me. They will end up in an explosion, they'll dissapear. Like me. Oh, those distant glimmers that I should still be catching, if they're those hopes that people are worshiping! But hope is toxic, hope is the Foe. I am Dusk. The light fading away, the silence settling in. The promise of a dark night, and sleep, eventually.”</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's it, I'll probably wait for at least a few days before publishing next chapter, else I won't be able to keep a nice publishing rhythm.<br/>See you soon, I'm looking forward for feedback.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Progress</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys,</p>
<p>Tbh I have the feeling that I kinda screwed up the notes, but hey, first time publishing on this website...<br/>But I think all of them appear on every chapter, which doesn't make sense.<br/>Anyway, enjoy the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            I start my researches as planned the day after. I wait for being alone (when Mrs Winston is busy cooking) to get closer to the computer that rests on a table in the living room. I climb clumsily the chair of the desk facing it and turn the computer on. I instantly run into an unplanned problem: I need to enter a password on the lock screen which I don’t have. I try my first name, my birthsday date, my parents’ name, qwerty, but nothing works. I guess that Mrs Winston will probably be done soon from the tantalizing smell spreading in the corridors. Containing my impatience I turn off the computer. Just on time, as the governess enters the room and tells me to come eat. I follow her, insisting again to walk without her holding my hand. If she really wants to keep me alive and preserve her physical integrity, she’d better leave me be and avoid any unnecessary physical contact with me. </p>
<p>           Unaware of my thoughs, Mrs Winstons helps me, to my chagrin, to sit at the stable. The meal at least is tasty, and I even make the effort of thanking her, which seems to make her overly happy. I can’t get access to the computer any more this day, which definitively alters my mood, and I use my time snooping around trying to find the password.</p>
<p>             In the evening, I finally “meet” my parents. My father comes home first. He wears a strict suit and tie and is still young but his features already look tired. He’s probably in his thirties and work in a human resources company although I don’t know what he does exactly. My mother arrives half an hour later, about 20:30. She also wears a strict outfit, like the modern and respectable business woman she is. She works as head of communications between her travel agency and its partners. She kisses me on the forehead before going in her room to change clothes, then I eventually have the opportunity to attend my first “family meal”. Mrs Winston does the service diligently. My parents are quiet calm. They talk about their day, check with the governess that I didn’t lack anything and that everything was fine. I doubt she told them about the truck… Even if she saved my life, it probably wouldn’t sound good to admit there has been a situation where it was needed… I’m probably too cynical. Thinking about it, even if it’s the case I don’t give a shit.</p>
<p>             Mrs Winston confirms that we spent a nice day together, and take this opportunity to boast my incredible progress, what am I saying? Mind-blowing! “She insists to walk without holding my hand, and she’s even able to go to the toilets and wash without help!”. My parents smile, and tell me that I’m a big girl and that they’re proud of me. I have to restrain myself from hitting my head against the table until complete destruction from the table or my head. What the fuck am I doing here?? Instead I just tell them that I can totally manage alone and I feel their discomfort, as well as Mrs Winston’s. I am too calm, to poised, for the age they think I am. I am too mature.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>xxx</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>« Mes parents… Des personnes avec qui je possède un lien que je n'ai ni choisi ni voulu, des étrangers. Des êtres dont je me demande parfois qui a eu l'idée folle de leur donner la possibilité de concevoir. Pour ce que ça a donné ! Si je pouvais ne jamais avoir existé, jamais. Il n'y a rien qui me relie à mes géniteurs. Une vague affection peut-être, mais jamais aussi forte que ma rancœur à l'idée de simplement exister. Est-ce qu'ils se sont posé la moindre question, avant de nous avoir, mon frère et moi ? Mon frère… Et maintenant il est mort, et ça n'a rien changé. Enfin, mes parents sont maintenant séparés. Je n'arrive même pas à les plaindre. C'est étrange, mais je ne me sens pas vraiment concernée. »</em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <em>”My parents… People with whom I share a link I didn’t choose nor wanted, strangers. Beings whom I wonder who had the crazy idea to give them the possibility to conceive children. For what good it did! If I could have never existed, ever. There’s nothing biding me to my progenitors. A vague affection maybe, but not as strong as the resentment at the simple idea of existing. Did they ask themselves a single question, before having us, my brother and I? My brother… And now he’s dead, and it didn’t change a thing. Well, my parents are now divorced. I’m not even able to pity them. It’s strange, but I don’t really feel concerned.”</em>
</p>
<p>-Extract from a notebook of Aurore Berger, five months before her death-</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Confirmation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys!</p><p>Since it's Christmas you'll have two chapters today, but sorry, it's not really "Christmasish" xD<br/>You'll notice a long article in French, no worries, it's translated after, but I'm trying to make the story more authentical in a way by letting the languages as they are. As a person that can speak both languages I would enjoy to have to swap languages in a chapter if it'd make sense, so that's a bit for my own pleasure as well.<br/>Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and merry Christmas to those celebrating it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>           It's only one week after "waking up" that I c an finally access the internet. My mother is at work and Mrs Winston went out shopping. Mly father is working on his laptop in the living room and I'm supposed to be watching cartoons. Eventually he streches up and tells me to remain good while he's showering. I'm not “awake” since a long time, but the adults already noticed my matyrity and independence, and aren't too scared for me to do anything stupid while they aren't there. Well okay, Mrs Winston might be slightly paranoid around me, but the truck almost ran over me less than a week ago, so she has mitigating circumstances.</p><p> </p><p>           As soon as I'm sure that my “dad” won't come back any time soon I rush towards his laptop. It his unlocked. I open a new tab on the browser, refusing to hesitate, I don't have time for it.</p><p>           And I type, in French, that language haunting my memories: “Aurore Berger suicide novembre 2006”. First test is conclusive: according to the amount of results, I indeed know how to speak French. I click a bit randomly on a link and get on a website that is probably not of the best quality, but that gives me the confirmation I was looking for. My memories are real. My eyes read the article, once, twice, three times.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>           «C’est le mercredi 15 Novembre au soir que le drame est survenu. Une adolescente de 17 ans, Aurore Berger, s’est donné la mort en sautant du toit d’un immeuble jouxtant l’hôpital de Charpennes, à Lyon. Ce sont des infirmiers qui l’ont trouvé pendant leur service, et elle a pu être identifiée grâce à ses papiers d’identité. Sa disparition n’avait pas été signalée.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>La jeune fille venait de commencer, à la rentrée, une terminale scientifique. Elle avait des notes dans la moyenne, et son trépas brutal est un choc pour l’équipe enseignante comme pour ses camarades de classe, comme en témoignent ces mots : « Elle était toujours souriante, et adorait faire des blagues. Elle avait des facilités qu’elle n’exploitait pas vraiment, mais ne causait jamais de problèmes. ».</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alors, si l’échec scolaire n’est pas relié à la décision de la jeune fille, pourquoi commettre un acte si définitif ?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>La mère d’Aurore s’est refusée à tout commentaire, mais son père, très éprouvé, nous fournit une piste de réflexion « Elle a perdu son frère, il y a deux ans, dans un accident de la route. Ils étaient très proches. Pourtant, quand je la voyais, elle me paraissait résolue à prendre sa vie en main… Je ne comprends pas… ». Les parents d’Aurore, séparés depuis la mort de son frère se partageaient la garde de leur fille. </em>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>Aucun diagnostic concernant une possible maladie mentale n’avait été fait. Pourtant, l’autopsie a révélé de nombreuses marques de scarifications sur le corps de la victime. Qui était Aurore ? Une malade qui a dissimulé sa folie a ses proches ? Une adolescente dont la souffrance à la mort de son frère est passée inaperçue ? Aurore n’a laissé aucune lettre expliquant son geste qui demeurera sans doute un mystère. Ses amis se sont refusés à tout commentaire.»</em>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>           “It's on Wednesday, the 15</em>
  <sup>
    <em>th</em>
  </sup>
  <em> of November that the tragedy occurred. A 17 years old teenager, Aurore Berger, took her own life by jumping from the roof of a building next to the Charpennes hospital, in Lyon. It is nurses that found her during their service and she has been identified thanks to her identity documents. Her dissapearance hadn't been reported.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> The young lady had just started, in september, a scientific terminale. She had average marks, and her sudden death is a shock for the teaching team as well as for her classmates as demonstrated by these words: “She was always smiling, and loved playing jokes. She had a knack for studies that she wasn't really using, but she was never causing any trouble.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So, if academic failure is not linked to the young lady's decision, why commit such a definitive act?</em>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <em>Aurore's mother refused to tell us anything, but her dad, deeply upset, gives us some beginning of explanation: “She lost her brother, two years ago, in a car accident. They were really close. Although, when </em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em>we were meeting</em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em>, she seemed determined to get her life together... I don't understand...”. Aurore's parents, divorced since her brother's death, were sharing custody of their daughter.</em>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em> No diagnosis has been done regarding a potential mental health disorder. However, the autopsy revealed a lot of scarification marks on the victim's body. Who was Aurore? A sick girl that hid her sickness to her relatives? A teenager whose suffering following her brother's death remained unnoticed? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Aurore didn't leave any note to explain her gesture that will probably remain a mistery. Her friends remained silent.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>           And under the article, some recommandations: “Those teenagers that go always further to attract attention”, “My child refuses to eat, what can I do?” and “Education: The alternatives for pupils who are failing school”. I hurry to close this tab that confirms that I didn't imagine anything. Reflexively I press ctrl+h keys and luckily for me it also works with English keyboards. I remove from the history the pages I visited. I push deep down inside of me all my feelings, the pain, and goes back to sitting in front of the TV. Later. Later. Don't break down before the evening.</p><p> </p><p>xxx</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> « Parfois j'ai peur de ce que je deviens, j'ai honte. Je suis un monstre. J'arrive plus à m'attacher à personne, je ressens plus rien. Je ne peux faire confiance à personne après tout. Je comprends pas pourquoi Quentin s'acharne à essayer de me parler, il croit quoi ? Je vais juste lui faire du mal si je reste avec lui de toute façon. Ne rien dire à personne. Garder mes pensées pour moi. Et continuer à faire semblant. Jusqu'à quand ? »</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sometimes I'm scared of what I'm becoming, I'm ashamed. I'm a monster. I can't bound with anyone any more, I don't feel anything any more. I can't trust anyone after all. I don't understand why Quentin keeps trying to talk to me, what does he expects? I will just hurt him if I stay with him anyway. Don't tell anything to anyone. Keeping my thoughts for myself. And keep prentending. Until when?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>-Extract of a notebook of Aurore Berger, two months before her death-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that it's already, I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to let me a comment!<br/>(I want to thank aquarius8 who never forgets :D)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Bad night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here's the second chapter for today, hope you'll enjoy.<br/>That's the moment when the trigger warning for self-harm starts to really make sense, so if you don't want to read about that sort of thing it's your last chance to run away.</p>
<p>Enjoy and comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>         When Mrs Winston finally puts me into bed, I wait for a few minutes to be sure she won’t come back before letting myself remember. First, I recall my childhood, and my parents, the real ones. They were in love when I was young. They loved me, they loved Jérémie. My brother. Asshole. Asshole. Thinking about him make my thoughts travel into time, skipping at a fast rate the memories of holidays at the beach, camping, summer camps, school, high school. Everything. So fast. And him. So wrong. He even managed to ruin the past. Every second spent with him, even joyful, destroyed by his treason. “You were happy, sure, but see what came next. See.”. And I see. I remember. I curl into a bowl. The powerlessness. The incomprehension. Be like paralysed, unable to act nor react. Is it even real? It is, it’s too ugly to be a dream. Even if it’s surrealist. “Stop. Stop. Stop.” Litany trapped in my head that he couldn’t hear and that wouldn’t have changed a thing. The tears that came eventually, when he went away, when I realized. In my bed in London, I can’t catch my breath. I am still scared. I try to bite myself, but my teeth are too young, it doesn’t relieve me. I try to hit the wall next to me, but I’m so weak. I’m unable to calm down. I curl up even tighter, I hold myself as tight as possible. I put my head under the pillow to muffle my tears. But I still know how to cry silently. I didn’t forget my reflexes. My mind knows what my body hasn’t learn yet. I remember.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>         The loneliness, at first. The incomprehension. I never talked about what happened with Jérémie, we both pretended nothing had happened. I hated him. Physical contact revolted me. I isolated myself. Above all, I hated myself. I started cutting, it helped calming me down, channelling myself. I was made of ice, acting as if nothing could reach me, as if I didn’t need anyone. And actually, nothing was able to reach me, I was way too deep, way to captive inside my pain. And then, six months later, my brother died in a car accident. Common death. And my dad at the burial that didn’t want to know anything. He didn’t want to listen to me. My parents tore each other apart. My dad left to live far away. Meanwhile, the countless marks on my arms, my legs, my belly, were always more and always deeper. It was fine for me. It was my way to stand my ground, and to pay.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>         But then, I met Quentin. Thinking about him makes me forget about the rest to open an enormous hole in my chest. As if there was nothing. So empty! I’m running out of air. He did everything he could to help me. He took time, he learnt everything about me. He let me walk at my own pace. He took care of me. And I died! I’ve lost him. I loved him so much. The pain, the pain is always there. Why would he have kept worrying about me? I was a weight. He had to be happy. I should have died. Fuck, why am I still alive? Why? Why...<br/>I needed him, I called him before doing it, killing myself. But he couldn’t take care of me. It was right to swallow the poison. I did well jumping off that roof. I did well getting him rid of me. He can be happy now. He can be free. And I have to make sure to die for real. I have to inform myself. I’ll find the answers. I’m not able to focus right now, everything is too painful. I need to cut. It’ll be fine afterwards.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>         I get up. I try to move towards the bathroom, but I’m not very discreet, in my young body. Yet I reach my goal without waking anyone up. I think shortly and turn around. I sneak into my father’s office and climb his desk with the help of his chair. I find his cutter. I look for the spare blades. Taking the cutter would be too visible. I eventually find them and try to let everything in the same state I found it. I get some tissues before finally heading back to my room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>         I can’t contain myself any more. I take the blade and rapidly draw fire lines on my arms with my clumsy hands. Again. Again. Again. The pain releases me. The pain burns me. But the pain is vital to me. I calm down pretty fast however, it’s like getting out of the fog. I’m supposed to be a three years old! How the hell will I hide this?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>xxx</p>
<p> </p>
<p>« Certains paradis sont des mirages<br/>Parfois tu te perds au détour d'un virage<br/>Tu ne reconnais plus ton propre visage<br/>Tu te retournes pour observer ton sillage</p>
<p>Quand ai-je donc perdu ma voie ?<br/>Pourquoi fallait il que je me confie à toi ?<br/>J'aurais mieux fait de suivre ma loi<br/>Plutôt que d'écouter l'espoir auquel tu crois »</p>
<p>“Some paradises are mirages<br/>Sometimes you get lost in the curve of a turn<br/>You can’t recognize your own face any more<br/>You turn back to observe your trail</p>
<p>When have I lost my way?<br/>Why did I need to confide in you?<br/>I should rather have followed my law<br/>Instead of listening to the hope you believe into”</p>
<p>-SMS sent by Aurore Berger to Quentin Lemage on the fifth of August 2006-</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Years going by</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys,</p>
<p>Since I'm translating a lot nowadays, and that I'm a nice person (or at least pretend to be), here's a new chapter.<br/>Enjoy and comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>         With the morning’s light I think that I didn’t need to worry. The cuts that seemed so deep and so many yesterday are already almost erased. I’m surprised, but it’s good. I guess I was just really tired… I still hurry up to get dressed before the arrival of my… progenitor, in order to make sure she won’t see anything. The days goes by smoothly, as well as the following weeks, although I cut again pretty often. But thanks to that I’m able to hold on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In contrast, my research on how the hell I resurrected are not exactly progressing. Even if the adults around me are starting to see me as an extremely mature and early child, my freedom of movement is almost non-existent. No one is ready to see me use the computer, or reading a book about Buddhism.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When comes the moment to send me to school, I survive one day, then refuse to go there ever again. That’s how I start learning with a private tutor, paid by my parents. I hide of course the extent of my knowledge, but not fully. I develop my English vocabulary and start learning Spanish, that I never had learn but always wanted to. My tutor is instructed to go towards the fields that seem to attract me. My body learns how to write, and I’m truly release to be able to create poems again, that I burn inevitably so that no one can see them, especially since I’m writing in French, a language that I’m not supposed to know.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>          The scars are multiplying on my body like the days and nights of my second life. The pain, </span>
  <span>faithful companion, gets less sharp, stifled by the routine even it doesn’t really get weaker. Thinking that dying will not necessary kill me keeps enforcing my feeling of suffocation. I’m imprisoned in my own head, imprisoned in my memories.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>          A new pain quickly adds up to those of the memories thousand times rehashed: I miss Quentin. While I grow up alone, I often think of him. Guiltiness, love, regrets, pain caused by the rejection. With him, it was already hard to hold on. And now, only the silence remains. I’m insensitive to everything but pain. I lost my feelings again, and to be honest it’s a relief. However, when I think of him, the void in me almost takes its shape, the shape of our happy memories. Sometimes I’d almost rather think of Jérémie. After finding the password of the computer I spend countless hours googling his name, the one of old acquaintances, hungry for the smallest piece of information. I don’t find much, except his parents’ landline number, cause he’s kinda discrete. I don’t remember his </span>
  <span>phone number, which saves me long hours of torturing myself to know whether I should call him or not, just to hear his voice again. I’m tempted of course to try and call at his parents’. But I never yield to the temptation and I know it’s better for both of us if I never try to get back in touch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>          Despite everything, I live moments that I have to accept as bearable, in absence of happiness. I started climbing pretty soon, and I regularly practice in a sports hall on the other side of the city. I like to focus on the wall, and to be up high. I almost feel more at ease when I’m not on the ground. That’s also the only moment when I frequent other human beings than Mrs Winston, my tutor and my parents. I don’t bond with anyone, and I’m the youngest of the course, but I think it still does me some good, somehow. I exploit my apparent age to sneak into building sites, abandoned houses or just climb buildings. I get caught once or twice, because I take more risks than I would have with my original appearance, but I can allow myself </span>
  <span>that</span>
  <span>, as I just need to cry a bit and look lost to be left in peace. I’m pretty young when I found a way to leave my parents’ home without them noticing, with the help of a rope and a self-locking handle that I stole from climbing. I would have preferred buying them, but I don’t have money. </span>
  <span>So I just consider it as borrowing until I have enough money to buy it myself. I also learn how to ski when my parents understand that I like sport and bring me with them in Austria. Sport… On one hand I like physical exhaustion, even stronger in by child’s body, and on the other hand I dream of forging by body, no matter how long I’ll stay in it, to control it, climb, fly… Dream of a perfect control on my movements, of flexibility and harmony in my gestures, far away from the chaos of my mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>xxx</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>« Survivre n'est pas vivre, tu ne dois pas te contenter d'exister » Pourquoi il est pas content de ça déjà ? Je croyais qu'il voulait pas que je meure, tout ça. Je fais ce que je peux. Il me faut du temps… Ou bien peut-être qu'il a raison, et que ça sert à rien. Et si je ne peux pas vivre, je peux tout aussi bien mourir. « Je tiens à toi » Pourquoi ? Je ne lui apporte rien… Et je sais pourtant qu'il m'est cher. Pourquoi je dois encore m'attacher aux gens ? Pourquoi à chaque fois je me fais avoir ?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Surviving is not living, you shouldn’t just exist”. Why isn’t he happy with that again? I thought he didn’t want me to die, and stuff. I’m doing what I can. I need time… Or maybe he’s right and it’s useless. And if I can’t live, I can as well die. “I care about you”. Why? I don’t bring him anything… And yet I know he’s precious to me. Why do I have to attach myself again to people? Why do I get screwed every time?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
  <span>E</span>
  <span>xtract from one of Aurore Berger’s notebooks, four months before her death-</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The lighthouse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys, </p><p>I wish you all a happy New Year, let's hope 2021 won't be a 2020.1<br/>Looking forward for your feedback.</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>              August 2013. I’m six years old. Or twenty-three, if you count my other life, but I’m not feeling like an adult. My development is fro</span>
  <span>zen</span>
  <span>, blocked </span>
  <span>by my obsession of finding an answer then killing myself. I’m a taciturn, dark and dreadfully </span>
  <span>smart kid</span>
  <span>. The adults are uneasy around me, even my parents have been contaminated. Their hesitant affection is awkward, even for them. They feel like I’m sl</span>
  <span>ip</span>
  <span>ping away from them, when they actually never got me. They feel that I’m different, and they can’t really handle it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>              I grew up alone. My </span>
  <span>crazy</span>
  <span> theories, my compulsive researches didn’t bring any convincing result. I start being out of patience. </span>
  <span>Every day I have the feeling of being closer </span>
  <span>to</span>
  <span> insanity. More and more, I think about giving up and trying to kill myself again just to see if I’ll reincarnate again. However, I don’t do it, not yet. Out of fear. And also because the situation could be worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              This week my parents are sending me to a camp on a small island close to a coastal city. It’s a one week camp for “difficult” or “different” children. As good a way as any for the wealthy parents to get rid of their progeny for some time while keeping a good conscience. Apparently, mine think that frequenting children of my age (and coming from the same background as my reincarnation) could be beneficial for me. Oh, they don’t see me as sick or insane. But there’s this je-ne-sais-quoi in me (I know what, they don’t) that makes them uneasy and scares them.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>              I don’t expect much from this camp, but after all I always loved traveling, so why not </span>
  <span>change air… At least Mrs Winston will get off my back for some time. She’s nice, but apparently </span>
  <span>impervious to my aura screaming </span>
  <span>“get out and don’t even dare try touching me again you cunt!” at every moment (yes, my aura is vulgar). Once at the holiday camp, I’m the youngest (but certainly not the most immature). We’re about fifteen children between six and fifteen. Two adults and a cook are in charge of us. They explain us upon arrival that we’ll be quite free. There will be activities proposed to which we can sign up, but otherwise we’ll be free to do whatever we please as long as we stay on the camp’s grounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>              I sign </span>
  <span>up</span>
  <span> for climbing, jet ski (one of those things I would never have had the opportunity to try in my first life) but move away from the manual activities. I like doing some, but not supervised.. We’re hosted in four people dormitories, but luckily we’re only three girls. </span>
  <span>I take possession of the upper bed of the bunk bed </span>
  <span>without hesitation and put my bag on the lower couch, letting the two kids (once is eleven and the other thirteen) take the twin beds on the other side of the room. They ignore me, finding me too young for their “grown up” discussions, and not talkative enough anyway. I find it convenient, cause I wouldn’t have had the patience to speak with them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>              Once my stuff is installed I retrieve my blue notebook before joining the refectory where we’re supposed to attend a welcome meeting. I’ve </span>
  <span>had</span>
  <span> this notebook </span>
  <span>for</span>
  <span> six months already, and I never leave it. I covered the pages with poems, mostly written in French, in my still unskillful writing. I encoded most of it to be sure to be the only one to understand. I worked a bit on it to be able to attach a pen to it, and I hide some razor blades inside the cover. Might as well say that I watch this notebook very closely, it is one of my two most cherished possessions, the second one being a small dagger that I stole in one of my great uncle’s manor that I always keep </span>
  <span>tied to my ankle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>              At the welcome meeting I discover the other participants. O</span>
  <span>ther</span>
  <span> than my two roommates there’s two cousins, Arthur and James Clifford (their family is part of the English aristocracy) aged respectively twelve and thirteen, a kind of goth scarecrow around fifteen and some others that I don’t even bother to notice aged between eight and fourteen years old. We obediently </span>
  <span>follow </span>
  <span>our leaders that make us visit the four-star cam</span>
  <span>p</span>
  <span>site</span>
  <span>, showing us the borders. Apart from this territory, we’re allowed to walk to the beach below if we’re in a group, but not to swim. There’s a swimming pool inside of the cam</span>
  <span>psite</span>
  <span> that we are allowed to use freely if we pass a swimming test prepared by the leaders. I decide to take it as soon as possible, and to simply ignore the instructions regarding “not going to the beach on our own”. I don’t want to mingle with those kids. Well, maybe with the older ones, if it’s absolutely mandatory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>              By luck it is possible to attend the test at the beginning of the afternoon already, which I pass easily. As a matter of fact I’ve learned swimming pretty early, and climbing gave endurance to my kid’s muscles. While dressing, I think to myself that this body isn’t that bad. It’s healthy, </span>
  <span>muscled but not too much (I don’t really want to destroy that body by doing too much sport), slim but not skinny (it helps to already be aware of the use of a healthy lifestyle at three years old), tanned. Green eyes, straight </span>
  <span>black </span>
  <span>hair cut short, i</span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span> looks like my previous life’</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span> except for the color. Scars as well, but rather discrete. My growing body erases them fast, which is good, cause I wouldn’t have been able to hide them forever, and the excuses “It was a cat” or “I feel in the brambles” have their limits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>              The first days of camp go quietly. We do climbing, and I find myself in a group with the Clifford cousins, James being the only one apart from me that knows how to climb. As I’m to</span>
  <span>o</span>
  <span> light to belay him, his cousin Arthur has to take care of it. This guy is a bit strange. He seems confused by everything around him, and keeps on whispering with his cousin all the time. This matter put aside, I find the two boys rather sympathetic, especially James, who his quite reckless and who despite my apparent age ends up doing challenges with me. Who will keep his head under water the longest? Who will be the fastest to climb the wall, but blind? Who will do the coolest dive at the swimming pool? Arthur never go far from James, and tries our challenges as well after I made him notice that even a six-years old girl could </span>
  <span>take them.</span>
</p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              On the third day, as I’m walking on the beach, after escaping the relative vigilance from the adults, I notice a seemingly abandoned lighthouse. There’s no one around, except the cousins. I hesitate briefly before calling them, and convince them to follow me. I don’t do it because I appreciate them, even if it plays a bit of a role. It’s mostly to avoid them telling everything to the adults by making them accomplices. We walk for about ten minutes before reaching our goal. The lighthouse is about thirty meter high, and my child size makes I even more impressive. It is made of old, slightly unsealed stones. We walk around the building, and I see a broken window, pretty small, two meters above the ground. Arthur gives me a leg up, and I slide into the opening, cutting myself on the way with a shard of glass.</p><p> </p><p>              I land inside almost safely, just slightly imbalanced. It’s quite dark, but I can distinguish some scrap on the ground, and I move towards the door. A bar is blocking it, that I remove, then try to open the door to let the cousins come in. The door moves a bit, but doesn’t open. I’m too weak. Arthur and James ask me what is happening, and I tell them to break the door down. I move to the side, and after a short hesitation they try without conviction. The door gives way almost immediately, and the boys join me. While they’re getting used to the darkness, I go to the half destroyed stairs and start climbing it without hesitation. They follow me after some protestations. “Dangerous”… If they knew…</p><p> </p><p>              There’s a room halfway from the top, which rotten wooden floor doesn’t seem reliable to me. Fortunately, I am light. I recommend to the others to stick to the walls, and go first into the room. Arthur catches my arm, and ask:</p><p>              “You’re sure we shouldn’t stop here? It doesn’t look solid…”</p><p>              “Do whatever you please”, I say, freeing myself. “I will keep going. The view will probably be great at the top.”</p><p> </p><p>              He doesn’t insist and just rolls his eyes. He follows me, then James brings up the rear. The top of the lighthouse is a bit collapsed, and the end of the stairs is a pile of debris. The lamp is broken, as well as the windows that used to protect the people working here in the past from the wind. I step closer to the void, made happy by the wind whistling in my ears. I almost feel the call of the void, I remember the times I was afraid of jumping. I barely felt anything when I crashed on the ground, when I died. Or I don’t remember. I think it healed me from the spontaneous apprehension I used to feel, before, at the idea of jumping into the air without water below. The view sweeps far. A panicked exclamation from Arthur gets me out of my thoughts.</p><p>              “Vivian, you’re bleeding!” He shows my arm and indeed, there’s a nice gash on it. I remember I cut myself at the window. I shrug.</p><p>              “It’s nothing, I will survive.”</p><p>              “You need a bandage!”</p><p>              “No worries, you’ll see when I’ll have cleaned it with sea water, it’s not much.”</p><p>              Arthur doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t add anything. James shrugs his shoulders and calls me stubborn, but I feel like I accidentally impressed them a bit. We remain some more minutes on the top before carefully going back down. We leave the lighthouse after trying to put back the door correctly so that no one finds out that the building is open.</p><p> </p><p>              I clean up my wound hastily while joking with the cousins. They’re not really mature, but I work with what I’m given, and they seem to have forgotten my alleged age, which I appreciate. I refuse to put on any bandage, preferring to let the cut in the open air. It stopped bleeding anyway. I tell the cousins to answer that I fell on a pointy rock, if anyone asks questions. We arrive at the camp just in time for the meal, that we share, sitting together at a table. I decide that James and Arthur will make decent distractions for the rest of the camp. And, who knows, maybe I’ll be able to discover what they’re trying to hide? Teenagers’ secrets, probably. But my instinct tells me those kids are interesting.</p><p> </p><p>xxx</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Danser avec les nuages<br/></em>
  <em>Aller gravir le ciel<br/></em>
  <em>Enlacer ses mirages<br/></em>
  <em>M'enivrer de son miel</em>
</p><p>
  <em>S'éveiller dans la nuit<br/></em>
  <em>Quitter les lieux clos<br/></em>
  <em>M'enfuir ou je puis<br/></em>
  <em>Ne pas éclater en sanglots</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Étoiles froides et brillantes<br/></em>
  <em>Vide intersidéral et béant<br/></em>
  <em>Obscurité rassurante<br/></em>
  <em>Me fondre avec le néant</em>
</p><p>x</p><p>
  <em>Danse with the clouds<br/>Climb up the sky<br/>Embrace its mirages<br/></em>
  <em>Get drunk from its honey</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wake up in the night<br/></em>
  <em>Leave the enclosed places<br/></em>
  <em>Run away where I can<br/></em>
  <em>Don’t start crying</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cold and bright stars<br/></em>
  <em>Interstellar and gaping void<br/></em>
  <em>Reassuring darkness<br/></em>
  <em>Blend in with nothingness</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
  <span>Extra</span>
  <span>ct from a notebook from </span>
  <span>Aurore Berger, </span>
  <span>1</span>
  <span>4</span>
  <span>/10/0</span>
  <span>7-</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The end of innocence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey!</p>
<p>I just realized I haven't posted in a while, so here's a new chapter. It's the most important of this first part, and generally one of the most important chapters overall. </p>
<p>Warning: some parts of this chapter can be especially triggering, so read at your own discretion.</p>
<p>Enjoy and comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>           It’s already the last full day of camp. Yesterday, I tried jet-ski for the first time ever. It was both exhilarating and frustrating. Exhilarating, because of the speed and the maneuverability of the thing. Frustrating, because we could only ride it for ten minutes and even worse: we were not allowed to drive. Anyway. Today, most of the children went with three of the four adults to a kind of huge outdoor party. It’s out of question for me to go there, I’m sure there’s hundred of kids… I’m fine with making an effort and socializing a little, but there’s a limit. Instead I went back to the lighthouse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           I’m up there writing since about twenty minutes already when I see a kid coming towards me between the dunes. I recognize him pretty soon with his brown hair. It’s Arthur. That is why I don’t worry when I hear someone climbing carefully the stairs to join me. He gets closer and sits next to me with caution. I finish writing my verse before looking at him. I wonder what he’s doing there, without his cousin to whom he’s usually clinging to.</p>
<p>           “I thought you’d be there.”</p>
<p>           “And you were right. You came without James?”</p>
<p>           “He went to the party, but I wasn’t interested. I told him to go without me, he doesn’t need to force himself to stay for me, and you’re there.”</p>
<p>           “Seems so.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           I’m not sure to be happy about having company, but at least Arthur is pretty chilled for a twelve years old. It’s the first time that I see him on his own, and he seems pretty confident nevertheless. That could be an opportunity to learn more about him, to understand what is strange with him. Not that I’m much interested, but it can be distracting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           Eventually, he breaks the silence and asks what I’m doing. I explain him that I’m writing poems, and when he asks to see one I’m a bit reluctant. I end up finding a neither encoded or compromising poem about nature, written in English, which I let him read but without releasing my notebook.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Waves, oceans and stars<br/></em>
  <em>Melted together as I fall apart<br/></em>
  <em>Like a giant galaxy of luminescent scars<br/></em>
  <em>An entire universe full of art<br/><br/></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Always moving<br/></em>
  <em>Always changing<br/></em>
  <em>Never the same as yesterday<br/></em>
  <em>Moving water all day</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           He reads carefully and silently. I know it’s not amazing, but I still like that poem. When he’s done reading I put my notebook back in my shoulder bag. Arthur congratulates me for my writing, but I don’t show him any more. We go down to the beach after a few minutes of silence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           Once there we see Erwan, one of the youngest kids of the camp </span>
  <span>playing a few meters away form two “g</span>
  <span>rown ups</span>
  <span>” (understand fourteen years old). I expect Arthur to spontaneously join them, but he stays next to me, hesitating. For once that his cousin is not around he has to cling on to me, right? Anyway, in the end we just sit in the sand and the two boys, William and Jens (Erwan’s big brother) join us. They propose us to play cards, and we end up starting a kems round.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           After four or five rounds, I notice a man sitting close to Erwan, and staring at us. He seems to be about forty years old, and I watch him from the corner of my eye. His insisting l</span>
  <span>ook</span>
  <span> at me is extremely unpleasant. I still manage to focus </span>
  <span>on the game after making my team loose two rounds in a row. After some time, I’ve forgotten the creepy guy. It’s only when Jens realize</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span> his brother his gone that we stop playing. The strange man disappeared as well. We split to look for Erwan, in the direction he probably went to, cause we’d have noticed if he’d have walked past us.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           We find him fast. He’s holding the worrying man’s hand, walking by his side. He ignores our calls so we run behind them to catch up to them. They’re already far away on the beach, but after two minutes we manage to reach them. With his long teenager’s legs, Jens arrives first, and shouts at the guy:</p>
<p>           “Where are you bringing my brother?”</p>
<p>           “Oh, it’s your brother? I should have seen it.” The man has a though voice, but he tries to make it sound friendly.</p>
<p>
  <span>           “He was coming to my home. We talked a bit and he was intrigued by my models. I’m a collector, actually. </span>
  <span>As I’m living nearby I thought he could come to see them, and eat something. You can join us of course, there’s enough food for everyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>           I cut in without letting time to Jens to answer: “I think we’ll rather eat at our camp.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           I’m absolutely not comfortable. I don’t really know what that man is looking for, but I’d bet it’s better for us to go away as fast as possible. Maybe he’s a pedophile? Why would he try to grab Erwan with him otherwise? The idea sends a shiver of disgust down my spine. Yet, a part of me tells me that I can’t keep suspecting the worst from everyone, that I can’t live my life in fear, expecting every man I meet to try to rape me or someone else. When I watch at the man from a short distance, he doesn’t look threatening. He’s rather skinny and not really tall. His hair is neat, and he wears good quality clothing. I think to myself that should a fight occur, it would probably be easy for me to win thanks to the element of surprise my dagger would probably create before shaking my head to myself. I’m really incorrigible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           He just nods with an infuriating smile to my answer. He still holds Erwan’s hand, and asks him: “What do you say? Do you prefer eating at the camp?” He tilts his head towards the kid’s ear and whispers something I can’t hear, then Erwan says firmly: “I don’t want to eat at the camp! I want to come with you!’. With his free hand, he catches his brother’s and says: “Join us!”. The man nods again with a smile meant to look comforting and insists: “You can all come with us if you worry about your friend, I have enough for everyone to eat and like that you’ll be sure everything is fine. If I wanted to do any of you harm I wouldn’t stand a chance against four strong and young people like yourselves anyway”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           At the insistence of his little brother, Jens gives up and no matter what I do, I can’t convince them to not follow the man. Who would listen to a six years old anyway… I sigh to myself, disappointed by the educative skills of the parents of the children surrounding me. I still follow them though, to be able to protect them in case of need. My dagger is at its place, hanging at my ankle. Also, I can not live in fear forever. So, even if my instinct is screaming me to leave, I follow silently the others to face my fear. The man introduces himself with the name of Carsten and starts speaking enthusiastically about modeling. He’s rather credible, and his passion convinces the others to chill.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           Arthur stays close to me, with his usual clueless look, although he doesn’t seem to find the situation odd. We walk for a few minutes along the coastline before heading towards a small house hidden between two dunes. It looks a bit old and looks more like a pool house than a real mansion. The man goes in first, letting Erwan’s hand go. We all follow him inside, and find ourselves in a dark room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           By the time my eyes get used to the lack of light, I see that our host is standing in the middle of the room. I see him taking a long object from his pocket before turning to me. He aims to the door with the thing, a long wooden stick, and says out loud “Colloportus!”. The door makes a sucking sound and try opening it, suddenly panicking, but it doesn’t work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           Beside me, Arthur screams “You’re a wizard!”, while my brain is still processing what is happening. The man just points his wand towards Jens, then William, then me while muttering a new spell: “Petrificus totalus!”. As soon as he pointed me with his wand I find myself unable to move. I am aware of what is happening, within the limits of what my shocked brain manages to understand. I try to contain the panic threatening to swallow me whole, my instincts feeling a visceral revulsion against this forced immobility. However, I manage to remain calm, after making a conscious effort not to panic. It’s not the first time I do something like this. In my first life, I already managed to push away claustrophobia when doing speleology for instance, when I was about to go through an especially tight tunnel for instance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           Now that my panic is temporary contained, a second thing hits me: I’m immobilized by a spell! Like in Harry Potter! Those are the same words, the same effects than in the books I read in my first life. I regain consciousness of my environment. The room is still dark. I can see Jens and William paralyzed next to me. Erwan hasn’t been cursed, and just observes the scenes with an absurd lack of emotions. The wizard is not directing his wand towards Arthur who remains motionless, looking shocked, but not for the same reasons as me.</p>
<p>           “You’re a wizard! Why are you attacking muggles? One should never make magic in their presence! What do you want from us?”</p>
<p>The man looks amused, and answers in an unpleasantly calm voice, while lighting a lantern with a spell:</p>
<p>           “Indeed, I’m a wizard. You know, making magic in presence of muggles is only a problem if it endangers the Secret… But that Secret is safe, as the dead can’t speak. For what I want, you’ll find out very soon, my dear. I’m glad you’re here, I rarely have the opportunity to meet wizards here, even if you’ll probably cause me some trouble. Why are you there?”</p>
<p>           “I’m on holidays with a cousin. Let us go, and we’ll keep our mouth shut!”</p>
<p>           “You’re cute… I thought I’d start with the small kid, and save the youngest for last, but in the end I’d rather take care of you first. Come to me. And don’t even think about running away. You know how magic works, and that you have no chance to escape me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           While a part of me is listening to them, the rest of me observes my surroundings frantically. We’re in an almost bare room with two windows with closed shutters. The only light comes from the lantern that the man light up after petrifying us. In a corner of the ceiling I can see a trap door that probably leads to an attic. A closed door on my right doesn’t give me more information. Behind the man, there’s an old wooden bed, a nightstand and a chair on which the man sits when telling Arthur to join him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           Speaking about him, he is not really resisting, and seems to have trouble fully understanding the situation. He looks scared and shocked by the threat the man brings to him, materialized by his wand. A part of me is working at max capacity, having already put aside the existence of magic to focus on the most pressing matters. From how calm the man is, how chilled he acts and talks, I can tell he is used to what he’s doing. He knows what he’s doing, he already did it. He’s not afraid of being interrupted and trusts his power. He orders Arthur to undress, and when he doesn’t react fast enough for his taste he petrifies Erwan as well before coming back to Arthur that froze. The pedophile tells him again to undress, but when my friend refuses the man just sighs before saying, almost delicately: “Imperio”.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           He tells again Arthur to undress and this time my friend starts obeying, expressionless. Meanwhile, the pedophile walks towards us, examining us as if we were for sale. He strokes Jens’s torso before coming to me, touching my butt. If I wouldn’t already have been paralyzed, that would have petrified me of horror. This disgusting touch makes so many memories surfacing, reminds me of feelings that I never forgot despite my body switch. I instantly feel soiled, and I shut myself in a corner of my mind, blocking any emotion, in a state of shock, but don’t manage to go deep enough in myself to not feel anything any more. I want to badly to destroy the spell maintaining me here to run away, and I can almost distinguish a complex web of brilliant threads tangled tight around me. At the same time, a part of me is paralyzed, unable to react even if it would have been possible. I recognize this sensation, and I hate it. I would cry out of rage if I could from feeling that again. Nothing changed. Nothing ever does.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           My attention painfully refocuses on what is happening in front of me, and I can’t escape, unable as I am to even close my eyes. The pedophile is circling around Arthur and tells him to caress himself. My friend clumsily obey, still imprisoned by the imperio. I would like to help him, and once again I almost visualize the nexus of luminescent threads around me impeding me, but I don’t manage to destroy it. I’m scared, and still tetanized. The asshole finally gets bored and starts caressing Arthur himself. At this moment, I forget my blockages and my traumas, or rather I use them as fuel, because I know how Arthur is feeling and will feel if it keeps going. I don’t care what happens to me, as I already did before killing myself. But when it comes to my friends, I can’t remind indifferent. Never have been able not to care. I don’t know that kid this well, and he’s a lot younger than me. But he showed me affection, and kept me company this week. I can’t let that man do this. I won’t let this bastard traumatize a friend for life! Never.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           A protective rage fills me and I see once again the brilliant web of the spell around me, but this time it doesn’t stop me, it explodes. I leap forward without asking myself how I got free, but the pedophile sees me and just paralyzes me again. I barely got closer, however it’s enough to make him forget Arthur. He stops in front of me after telling my friend to stop moving, and says: “So you’re a small witch, uh? Also on holidays? Is her from your family?”. When Arthur denies it, the man thinks a bit, then a predatory grin stretches his lips. He aims his wand at me and says “In that case, given your motivation, I guess I can take care of you.”. And then, he pronunces again the reviled spell as I’m looking for an escape. “Imperio”.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           Immediately, I feel as though I were in a trance, unable to make my own body move. I can see and understand what is happening, but from far away, and my body is disconnected from the horror that fills every inch of me. The pedophile tells me to get closer to him and to undress, and my body starts obeying while I’m stuck inside my head. The wizard starts masturbating in front of me. At the moment I’m about to remove my shoes, Arthur comes behind him with a chair in his hand. He smashes it onto the bastard’s arm without causing much damage, I think, but it’s enough to make him drop his wand. The spell breaks and without thinking I grab my dagger and jump to the pedophile’s throat. I stick my blade into his neck with all the strength I have and I feel it sinking into it almost effortless. I think I got his windpipe. He pushes me away almost instantly, but it’s too late.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           I land on the ground, half naked, and I see him trying to compress his throat while looking for his wand with his second hand. I see it before him, and I take it while moving away from him. He tries to follow me but only manage to take a few steps before falling. He tries to speak, but his voice gets lost in a blood and air gurgling. Arthur is further away, on my right, and observes the scene with his hands tense on the chair, frightened to death.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           Eventually, after a minutes that feels like an eternity, the pedophile stops moving while the pool of blood on his clothes and on the ground besides him stops growing. Jens, William and Erwan are able to move again. They talk and cry all at the same time but I ignore them. I go to check on Arthur that is still holding his chair, and I gather his clothes on the ground at the same time as mine. He puts them back without a word while the others open the door to run away. </span>
  <span>Before they can do it, though, I scream them to wait. They listen to me, maybe scared by the bloody knife in my hand. Or maybe they feel that I’m in control and they trust me, forgetting my age.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           I tell them that we should stay here together, </span>
  <span>let us the time to get our clothes, and that I need a cell phone to call help. Arthur says in a shaking voice that he has one and gives it to me while the others go in the next room that turns out to be a kitchen, to not see the corpse any more. My friend eventually drops his chair and curls up in a ball on the corner that is the further away from the body. Even I avoid to look at it more than necessary. I’m totally keeping my composure, like always when I’m in a crisis situation, and my emotions are put in stand-by. I focus on what I have to do. If what I read in Harry Potter books has any truth in it, it’s obvious for me that I have to tell some wizards what happened so that they can take care of it, to preserve the Secret that Arthur mentioned earlier.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           I ask as delicately as I can to my friends if he has a way to communicate with his family. He tells me his m</span>
  <span>o</span>
  <span>m’s number is registered on his phone, that she gave him for his muggle holidays. He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s giving me useless details, and doesn’t look surprised by my knowledge of his world. In the end, he calls his mum himself, and explains with difficulty what happened. Some tears roll down his cheeks but he doesn’t break down. Eventually, he gives me the phone and I explain that some muggle children are with us and are at risk to spread the news if we wait for too long. I then proceed to explain exactly where we are and Arthur’s mother, quite destabilized, guarantees me that she’s calling the </span>
  <span>Obliviators and that she’s on her way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           Once Arthur and I are finally done putting our clothes back on, I notice the pedophile’s wand on the ground. I need to get it, it’s probably my only chance to have one before </span>
  <span>I’ll be eleven (if Harry Potter books are true, of course), and I could really make use of it. </span>
  <span>I refrain my reflex to pocket the wand cause I know the wizards will likely be looking for it, and if they use an accio they’ll get me instantly. No, I have to hope that I’ll have a good opportunity, maybe just before leaving? I notice that Arthur’s eyes keep on going back to the corpse, so I cover it with the bed’s sheet. I make it so that the wand is also covered. If I’m lucky the Obliviators won’t look for it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           After that, we remain silently side by side for a few minutes before I find in myself to open the kitchen door and tell the children that we’ll be rescued soon. Jens is </span>
  <span>holding Erwan tight and I’m happy for him, that he’s still able to handle physical contact. I leave the room, I want to be alone, </span>
  <span>so I just walk to the doorstep and stay there. Arthur stays with me. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t have any word to offer. Eventually we hear noise outside, and Arthur opens the door. There’s a group of adults standing on the other side, four in total, all with normal clothes. A woman leads the group, she is the only one without a wand in her hand. When he sees her, Arthur runs into his arms while calling her “mommy!”.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           The Obliviators visit the house pretty fast, one of them carefully examining the corpse without paying attention to the wand nor touching anything while an other takes care of the children (including me, which is annoying). I see the last one opening the trapdoor on the ceiling, then levitating to the attic (LEVITATING FOR FUCK SAKE, one, what the fuck, and two I also want to do it!). He gets down pretty fast, and whispers something in one of his colleague’s hear with a disgusted look on his face. The Obliviators finish to clean the scene, and the one that was examining the body covers it again with the sheet. I assume they’re waiting for us to leave before doing anything with it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           The Muggles are led to the kitchen again, and I can see through the half-open door two Obliviators making them sleep then use spells to clean their </span>
  <span>memory and give them fake memories. Arthur is holding his mother’s hand, and the last Obliviator is speaking with her. I don’t really know where to go and am content with listening to what is happening. I don’t know what the adults are planning on doing with me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           In any case there’s no way I’d let anyone mess up with my brain or make me lose my memory. Knowing that magic exists… That’s a crucial piece of information for me! It can explain why I’m alive, I’m sure! My research cooul progress so much. There’s also so many things I’d like to test, and I’ll be able to fly… No question of taking this away from me, even if I really go to Hogwarts when I’ll be eleven. Also, it is a matter of personality. No matter how unpleasant today’s event are, how bad they’ll damage me, I have to face them, and they’ll build me whether I remember them or not. For this reason as well I can’t allow myself to forget anything. It belongs to me. I am myself only through my memories and thoughts, I don’t even have my body, my family or the people I cared about before I died to remind me of who I was. It’s all I have.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           Eventually the Obliviators regroup and start wondering what they should do with me. I hear them say “She is a muggle born, she should be treated like the muggles, out of safety reasons.”</span>
  <span> I expected it, but I’m still flabbergasted by their nerve. Taking such an important decision without consulting me… Okay, they think I’m six years old, but still! They don’t explain me anything, and they think they can decide at my stead what is good for me? I can feel the anger rising inside of me, and I step to them while they’re still speaking. Arthur’s mum is with her son, out of the way, but I know he’s watching. Will he be an ally?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           “I refuse to lose my memories. You’re not allowed to steal them from me.”</p>
<p>The wizards turn towards me, surprised, and one of them answers:</p>
<p>           “Sorry kid, but you’re living among those we call muggles, and even if the abilities you showed today make you one of us, it’ll still be years before you’ll join our world. It’d be to dangerous to let you go with what you know.”</p>
<p>           “I know what muggles are.” I say, coldly. “I read Harry Potter years ago!”</p>
<p>           “Years ago? How old are you, kid?”</p>
<p>           “<span>I’m six, and I read the books back when I was four. I’m what the muggles call a </span><span>precocious child, or gifted, if you like. I’m more mature than I should be. Don’t take me for a dumb child that speaks too much. I know when to shut up, and I know that the Secret must be protected. Hell, I am the one who decided to call you! If you don’t trust me, then use a spell to prevent me from talking about the magic world until I’m of age to enter it, but don’t make me forget anything!”</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>           The Obliviators look at each other in confusion, and I know I surprised them with my words and my intelligence. I’m worried that I did too much, but my integrity is at stake. I can’t allow myself to lose my memory, the point of the discussion. The idea of “precocious” is blurry to me, so it should be even more complicated for wizard, and hopeful they won’t find me too odd. Eventually, the same Obliviator speaks again, with the silent support of his mates. I deduce that he must be their leader.</p>
<p>           “You’re speaking as an adult, so I will talk to you as if you were one.” he starts, with an encouraging smile. “You need to understand that we can’t let a muggle born child in her muggle environment with the knowledge you have. It’s taking a risk. You’re smart, so tell me. What will we do if for instance you do experiments with magic and hurt some muggles, or reveal secrets? I have a counter proposition: we can lock your memory instead of erasing it, until you go to Hogwarts. At this moment, we’ll give you your memories back, and we’ll make sure that you receive psychological support to help you put those memories at the right place.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           He looks reasonable, sure of himself, and I know I can’t run away. Yet, it’s the thing I want the most right now. I can hear in his voice that he’s convinced of what he’s saying and that he won’t trust me. Despair starts filling me, along with frustration. A part of me wonders if I wouldn’t be better off slicing my throat so that I wouldn’t have to lose my memories. But I know it wouldn’t improve my situation, especially as they’d probably manage to “save” me. That’s why I retort, with a voice that is starting to shake:</span>
</p>
<p>           “<span>Let me my memories, I’m begging you. Whether I remember them or not, they will s</span><span>hape me</span><span>, and if I don’t remember I might suffer even more from it. They belong to me, don’t you get it? What happened today was awful, okay. But I don’t regret to have protected my friend, and I don’t want to forget everything that I’ve learn today, it’s important for me!</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           Arthur’s mother, who had come closer during our debate, cuts us at that moment, Arthur still clinging to her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>           “Sorry for interrupting you, but the problem here would be to let this young girl by herself in a muggle environment, at the risk she could cause problems?”</p>
<p>           “Indeed”</p>
<p>           “If my family vouches for her, would you accept to let her those memories she seem to care about so much?”</p>
<p>           “<span>Well, it could indeed work. But are you sure that you and your family want to take this responsibility? It implies that if this child causes any problem in relation with magic, you will be hold responsible. You could have to pay </span><span>fines, and if what she does is really bad she will lose her memories anyway.”</span></p>
<p>           “This kid saved my son’s life today, and all the other children’s at the same time. And even more. So yes, I take the risk and my family will take it as well. That is, if it suits you, of course” adds Arthur’s mum, turning towards me.</p>
<p>           “<span>It suits me.” I say, gratefully “Thank you very much.”</span></p>
<p>           “<span>Well, in that case </span><span>I guess we’re done. I’d advise you to consult a </span><span>Mind Healer</span><span> for your son, and the girl will probably need one too. For the rest you just need to sign an attestation saying that you’re responsible for the kid, then you’ll be free to go. Come with me.” he turns to his colleagues. “I want one of you bringing the muggle kids back to a place where the </span><span>people taking care of them</span><span> will find them, and one of you to start cleaning the attic. And please, b</span><span>oys, discretion</span><span>!”</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           And that’s how I find myself alone with Arthur in front of the door, while his mother goes to the kitchen with the Obliviators’ chef. I feel so relieved. The tension doesn’t leave me, though, and I still need to find a way to bring the pedophile’s wand with me. While I’m trying to solve that problem, Arthur tells me, with hesitation:</span>
</p>
<p>           “<span>Mom told me that I won’t go back to the camp, she wants us to go back home as soon as we’ll be done here… Do you want to come with us? We can bring you drive you to your place tomorro</span><span>w.”</span></p>
<p>           “How will you go there?”</p>
<p>           “<span>We’ll app</span><span>a</span><span>rate there, do you know what it is?”</span></p>
<p>           “Yes, I remind you that I read Harry Potter. Well, maybe you don’t know what it is… Anyway, it could be nice, if it’s fine with your parents. I don’t really want to stay around.”</p>
<p>           “<span>Don’t worry, I’m sure she already planned to do that anyway. So, it’s true that you only know the magic world through books?”</span></p>
<p>           “Yes, are they saying the truth?”</p>
<p>           “I don’t really know, I’ve never read them, but they’re known for being close to the truth without being totally accurate. If I understood right, the information muggles could verify are false, but those about the wizards are mostly true.”</p>
<p>           “I see.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           Arthur looks more relaxed than earlier, but avoids looking in the direction of the corpse, contrary to myself. Since I know it’s </span>
  <span>possible that I leave by apparition, I look a lot at the body’s direction, cause the wand I want is still next to it, under the sheet. The problem, it’s that if the adults realize that I have it </span>
  <span>before I can hide it in a safe place, it could endanger my hold on my memories. And thinking about it, it could also embarrass Arthur’s family. But this wand offers me too many possibilities for me to give up on it. </span>
  <span>And Arthur’s mom </span>
  <span>decided to take a risk after all. Also, if they understand that I have it </span>
  <span>I can play the poor traumatized child that just wanted something to defend herself against baaaaad people (which is technically part of my reasons, if we only keep the part where I defend myself). Those are the reasons why I </span>
  <span>signal Arthur to keep quiet </span>
  <span>and walk discretely to the corpse. The adults in the kitchen can’t see us, and the Obliviator in the a</span>
  <span>ttic seems to still be busy. I wonder what is up there, but I won’t take the risk to lose the wand to find out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           I lift the sheet, </span>
  <span>fumbling a bit while avoiding to touch at the corpse cooling down, without being able to prevent me from </span>
  <span>taking a look. </span>
  <span>I finally take he wand and sticks it in the elastic of my trousers before </span>
  <span>putting my shirt back on it. It is quite big and efficiently hides the wand. </span>
  <span>I go back to Arthur that whispers to me frantically (yes, it’s possible, and I appreciate the common sense he shows):</span>
</p>
<p>           “What are you doing??”</p>
<p>           “I need this wand, I’m living with muggles and didn’t know I was a witch before today. I want to be able to defend myself, please, you’re my friend and you know what happened, it’s my only chance to have a wand before going to Hogwarts. Just having it will comfort me. I know it’s a lot I’m asking you for, sorry… But can you do that for me? Don’t worry, if the adults understand what I did I’ll pretend you didn’t know anything.”</p>
<p>Arthur seems a bit shaken, but doesn’t hesitate before answering:</p>
<p>           “Alright, you can trust me.”</p>
<p>He’s cute, I’d almost hug him. Well, if I’d have been a normal kid and would have been able to handle physical contact. Haha. If I would have been a normal kid, nothing like that would have happened anyway, or at least not that way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           Shortly after the adults come back and Arthur’s mother indeed proposes me to come to their place so that I don’t have to go back to the camp after what happened. I think she feels like she owes me, but also that she would like to get to know me better. After all, she took risks accepting to be my “magic tutor”. In any case, I readily accept, I need to leave fast, before anyone starts asking themselves questions about a certain wand. I don’t really know what story will be used to explain our sudden departure from the camp, but I let the adults deal with it. After all, I’m just a harmless kid overtaken by the events, right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>           Arthur’s mother take her son’s hand with an apologetic smile, promising me she’d come back immediately to pick me up. I tell her I’ll be waiting for her outside, and I see watch her disappear with a sort of “pop”. Even if I intellectually knew that it would be like that, I’m still bugging briefly. Magic… As I suspect that she’ll take some minutes to drop her son safely, I go outside of the shack and seat on the ground, my chin resting on my knees. She’s quite fast, and comes soon back. She examines me quickly and uses a spell to make the blood on my clothes disappear and clean them a little. Then she asks me if I’m ready and tries to reassure me, but I give her my hand without showing any weakness, hiding both my excitement at the idea of apparating and my disgust at her touch. Apparating is at the same time a quick, puzzling and uncomfortable experience, but strangely enough I don’t dislike it. I find the description of a rubber pipe to be pretty accurate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>           We arrive in a room that seems to be a vestibule. I hasten to let Arthur’s mother’s hand go while looking around me. A majestic wooden door faces me, which I assume to be the manor’s entrance, because </span>
  <span>with that room size for the vestibule I can’t decently call that building a house. </span>
  <span>There’s a line of coat hangers on the left of the door, and on the right a window lets light in. In front of the front door there’s a smaller one, halfway open, and Arthur stands in front of it with a lady that looks very old. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While I’m staring at her she starts speaking, in an aged but firm voice:</p>
<p>           “Welcome to our home, young girl.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>xxx</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Partir chercher le bout du monde<br/></em>
  <em>Vagabonde<br/></em>
  <em>Nulle part chez moi et partout à ma place<br/></em>
  <em>Trouver des souvenirs que rien n'efface<br/><br/></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Partir pour m'enfuir loin d'ici<br/></em>
  <em>En sursis<br/></em>
  <em>Et peut-être de merveille en nouveauté<br/></em>
  <em>Trouver une raison de toujours exister</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em><br/>Partir pour ne pas avoir à me souvenir<br/></em>
  <em>Ne pas souffrir<br/></em>
  <em>Chercher une voie et disparaître<br/></em>
  <em>Loin de ceux qui ont pu me connaître</em>
</p>
<p>xxx</p>
<p>
  <em>Go and look for the end of the world<br/></em>
  <em>Hobo<br/></em>
  <em>Nowhere home and everywhere at my place<br/></em>
  <em>Finding memories that nothing erases<br/><br/></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Go to run away far from here<br/></em>
  <em>On borrowed time<br/></em>
  <em>And maybe from wonder to novelty<br/></em>
  <em>Find a reason to keep on existing<br/><br/></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Leave so I don't have to remember<br/></em>
  <em>Not suffer</em><br/>
  <em>Look for a way and disappear<br/></em>
  <em>Away from those who may have known me</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
  <span>SMS s</span>
  <span>ent by</span>
  <span> Aurore Berger </span>
  <span>to</span>
  <span> Quentin Lemage o</span>
  <span>n the </span>
  <span>18/</span>
  <span>09/</span>
  <span>07-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, that's it for the chapter. It's a lot, right? I'm really looking forward for the theories and remarks you guys could have. <br/>See you at some point!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Cliffords</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys,</p><p>I admit I forgot a bit about posting here, since I didn't get any feedback xD<br/>But anyway, here's a new chapter for you, if I think about it you should have another one soon.</p><p>Enjoy and comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              Arthur’s grandmother leads us through a corridor lit up by what seems to be magic orbs spreading a strange golden light towards a living room of respectable dimensions. The room is bright, the light coming from high windows, and is decorated in warm green and gold shades. I’m not actually a fan of yellow nor gold, but the green always calms me, like blue does. We’re on ground floor, and apparently the mansion is surrounded by a park in the French style, with nicely cut bushes, a fountain, and walkways lined up with weeping willows which branches are gently moving in the breeze. I kinda like it, although I prefer the wilderness.</p><p> </p><p>              Arthur’s mother closes the door behind us while his grandmother invites us to sit in one of the large dark-green couches regrouped around the fireplace. She leads the way, and we’re soon settled in. Arthur is sitting next to me, and it greatly contributes to making me at ease. His mother snaps her fingers, and a house elf appears with a loud *crac*. At least, I assume it’s a house elf. Stunted, with long drooping pointy ears, very similar to house elves from the Harry Potter movies. He owes a very clean white apron with a tricolour coat of arms on his chest. I don’t really spend much time on his appearance, though, because I’m more focused on his EXISTENCE. I know, wizards exist, blabla, I’m one of them, blabla, but here I’m confronted to a magical creature, another species! I feel like I’ll have a LOT of things to debrief with my brain later. Apart from those considerations, I find it pretty cool, except for the “life of slavery” part, but at least this elf seems to be well treated by his masters. And well, if he wanted to break free he could use his powers. I see him a bit like I see Mrs Winston, as a servant (and God knows how I still find the idea of having servants weird, despite my childhood number two).</p><p> </p><p>              Anyway, Arthur’s mother asks the elf to bring us a snack, which he does eagerly, and we soon enjoy a good glass of milk (for my part) and a delicious apple crumble while the adults seem content with some tea and scones. English people… I’m glad to have kept most of my food preferences in this life, and most of all to not be allergic to something I used to love before. It allows me to have the impression that I didn’t lose anything of my identity. I guess the tastes are influenced a lot by my mind anyway.</p><p> </p><p>              I forget my metaphysical considerations quite fast when Arthur’s mother starts the conversation, asking me to talk a bit about myself. I tell her that I’m six years old, that my parents are muggles but that I already read the Harry Potter series, which allows me not to feel too lost. I explain her that I’m “gifted”, and she looks convinced. I use the opportunity to ask her what parts of the books are real, and how it’s possible that it has been published, in the muggle world no less.</p><p> </p><p>              “We don’t exactly know who wrote those novels. The first book was published during the year of darkness, while the magic community was in a really bad shape, in the muggle world. It went quite unnoticed in our world, but by the end of the war we realized that the mysterious writer had already published a second book. The author known by the muggles is protected by wizards, and the ministry didn’t do anything because the books weren’t endangering the Secret, since the informations about the accesses to our world are inaccurate. As a matter of fact, there were more pressing priorities, like rebuilding our society after the war. The book became a global hit in the muggle world, and for us a good means of helping muggle-born wizards to discover our world. It also brings us an interesting point of view on the events that occurred in our world in the last decades. According to Harry Potter’s relatives and friends, and from himself, everything is true or very close from the truth. There is still much speculation on the author’s true identity.”</p><p> </p><p>              After that the conversation keeps on going for a little while, and I call my parents to tell them that “A friend’s parents will drive me back home tomorrow”. Mrs Winston is the one to pick up the phone, and she shows an excessive enthusiasm at the idea that I’ve made a friend. I hang up before she can start harassing me with thousand of questions. Arthur’s grandmother proposes to accompany us to Diagon Alley tomorrow so that I can discover some of our common world, and I gladly take the offer. We don’t talk about the reason of my presence at all. I can feel that Arthur’s mother is uneasy around me, I think that once again I found someone who can’t really handle my intelligence that contradicts my physical appearance.</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              After some time I follow Arthur to his room, because the adults want to have a “serious talk”. In order to reach his room we walk to the end of the corridor before going up white marble stairs, still lit up by the glowing magic orbs. For what I can see from the mansion, the Clifford family is definitively pretty rich, but are nevertheless not into flashy shows of wealth. Everything that I can see is at the same time sober, stylish and probably very expensive. My friend’s room can be found in a new corridor after the stairs. The room is large, I would say approximatively five meters long and four meters broad. A Hufflepuff coat of arms proudly covers the wall in front of the entrance, hanging above a well-tidied desk, equipped with diverse coloured feathers and a bird’s cage. A wand rests in the middle of his desk. The walls are panelled with a light coloured wood, maybe birch. The rest of the furniture consists of a four-poster bed with blue curtains, a long book shelf on the right wall with as many diverse objects as books, two dark-blue armchairs arranged around a low table. A massive wooden cupboard stands on the left wall. I like the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it your wand?” I ask Arthur. He confirms, and takes it before giving it to me without hesitation. It’s smaller than the one I took from the paedophile, and the wood that constitutes it is light. It’s also pretty stiff. Arthur says proudly: “It’s made of cedar with unicorn hair! According to the seller, it’s a good wand for charms, and I’m pretty happy with it because it’s my favourite subject. You want me to show you some spells?”</p><p>“Oh yes please!” my voice gives my enthusiasm away, but I find the idea awesome.</p><p> </p><p>              I forget the day for some time, and even who I am, to enjoy the present. Arthur shows me some spells like Lumos and a levitation spell. He even makes me fly a bit, then, as if to put my euphoria to another level, he offers to let me try. I try with his wand at first, but I have trouble using it. I try then the wand I stole, reluctantly, but despite my repulsion it seems to obey me better, and I manage to produce light. I don’t dare use it for too long, in case someone would come in the room. Arthur then shows me Accio, and I wonder what the range of that spell is. I can remember that in Harry Potter’s fourth book, Harry manages to call his broom from his room to the arena, and I’m suddenly scared of what could happen if an Obliviator was to come here and use the spell to check if we brought the wand. I have to hide it somewhere, preferably kilometres away from there, and as fast as I can. Also, I shouldn’t touch it again before being sure that there’s no danger any more.</p><p> </p><p>              Arthur must have seen my expression turning darker, because he stops his demonstrations, and asks me: “What’s the matter?”. I put aside the fact that I should hide my feeling better to explain him the problem, he’ll maybe have a solution. He explains that even tying objects doesn’t allow them to resist the spell, and that even a weaker adult wizard can probably pull an object from even a kilometre away. I tell him that I need to hide the wand as fast as possible, and he proposes to tell his mum that we’re going for a walk in the park. He comes back soon, and tells me with a smile that we’re all good, but that we should be careful cause his mum looked worried and would probably not leave us alone outside for very long. Not a big surprise after the day we just had…</p><p> </p><p>oOo</p><p> </p><p>              We leave the mansion together and find ourselves in the park. The sun is starting to set, and I’m already starting to fear the night. Finding myself alone in the dark with my thoughts… But for now, the wand problem is my priority. We move away from the mansion, and once out of sight I tell Arthur that I’ll be quicker if I’m going alone to look for a good hiding spot. But he says, with good reason, that he knows the surroundings better than me. He offers to go alone, but I can’t do that, it would imply a level of confidence in him that I’ll never have any more for anyone other than myself. Additionally, things are done better when I take care of them myself, in general. In the end, we leave together because I can’t convince him to stay, to my great displeasure. If he would have stayed, he could have said we were playing hide and seek for instance, should anyone have asked after me.</p><p> </p><p>              We start running but slow down pretty fast to not exhaust ourselves too fast. We walk for about fifteen minutes, and I really hope it’s far enough, because we don’t really have enough time to do better, since we don’t want anyone to find our that we’re gone. Arthur is leading us now, and brings me to a little park. I hide the wand in a small opening among the roots of a tree located behind a broken bench. I’ll use it as landmark, and I carefully write down the park’s address in my notebook before leaving. We go back to the Clifford’s mansion as fast as we can and Arthur’s mum, worried, welcomes us at the entrance.</p><p> </p><p>“Where were you? I’ve been calling you for five minutes! We were about to start searching for you!”</p><p>“I’m really sorry mum… We were playing hide and seek and we went a bit far away… Really sorry!”</p><p>The pitiful face of Arthur looks real and probably is. He hugs is mum for the second time today, and she lets us come inside. I am both surprised and greatly grateful for what that kid does for me. I highly doubt that lying to his mum is one of his habits.</p><p> </p><p>              We eat the dinner almost in silence with Arthur’s mother and grandmother. Apparently his dad is visiting one of their properties in Ireland. After the meal, the house elf leads me to a room on the same floor as Arthur’s. It’s smaller than his. The bed is large but it’s not a four-poster one, and the decoration is red and silver. The furniture is slightly old-fashioned. Before leaving, the house elf shows me the bathroom and proposes to clean my clothes while I’m showering, and I gladly take the offer. Even if Arthur’s mother cleaned most of the damage, there’s still some suspicious spots and dirt on my clothes. After showering I go back to the room that I was assigned and am surprised to find my luggage at the entrance. I search through it to find new clothes that I hastily put on before sitting on the bed, exhausted. I enjoy for a second the welcomed comfort, then Arthur knocks at my door and comes in the room without waiting for an answer. I stand up, ready to tell him that he could respect my privacy, but his slightly embarrassed face stops me.</p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to wish you good night, and also thank you for today. You saved my life. Thank you.”</p><p>“You saved mine, you don’t owe me anything.”</p><p>“You said we shouldn’t go there, and we didn’t listen to you. You killed someone for us!”</p><p>I don’t want to have this conversation now, neither do I want his gratefulness. I still answer him, hoping he’ll leave me alone and let me take care of my brain, which is more than enough.</p><p>“I also did it for myself. You should go to sleep Arthur, you need to be awake to show me your world tomorrow!”</p><p>He hesitates for an instant before nodding, looking like he wants to add something. Instead, he walks closer to me and hugs me without a warning. I stiffen, but I don’t move away, shocked. Luckily, he lets go rather fast, and repeats: “Thank you”. He finally moves closer to the exit and adds:</p><p>“My mother gave me some dreamless sleep potion for tonight, do you want me to give you some?”</p><p>“No, thanks, I don’t need any.”</p><p>I accompany him to the exit and close the door behind him, this time locking it. I could take this potion and sleep, sure, but I don’t want to take any drug, and taking this potion would just be like running away. I’ll have to face my thoughts eventually, and I don’t need this. I’m stronger than that.</p><p>I’ll have to reflect about what potions I consider as drugs and which I could agree to ingest. Anyway, that’ll have to wait. For now, I remove my trousers, put my notebook and my knife under my pillow and finally lay down to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>              And I remain like that, eyes wide open in the dark for what feels like an eternity. I can feel that my body is exhausted, but I just can’t sleep. A part of me thought that if I was to find myself again in a situation where someone tries to go too far with my body, I would manage to stop it this time… In this new life that I never wanted, armed, as a child, I thought it could be different. But now I know the truth. I remain the traumatized thing I became in my previous life. If Arthur wouldn’t have been in danger I wouldn’t have been able to move, no matter if under the influence of a paralysing spell or not. The paralysing spell… The witchcraft. I’m convinced that it’s real, because everything else can’t have been a dream. If I had known that earlier, I could have enjoyed this new life, I think. But now, I just see it as a good way to explain my reincarnation. It opens so many more possibilities to explain it… Thanks to the paedophile’s wand, I should be able to access some magic places, and to gather information.</p><p> </p><p>              The paedophile… I see myself again, stabbing him in the neck. I didn’t think it was that easy. I killed someone. It was justified, I did it to save a friend. The blood splashed on me, I killed someone. My muscles remember, and the scene replays in my head, I memorized some unexpected details. His face when he fell to the ground, the sensation of his warm blood, the smell too. I also remember that sensation of power that I felt. I killed someone. Strangely, I tell myself that technically I’d already killed someone by killing myself. But this is very different. I blame myself for killing, but not for killing this man. It’s weird to describe. I know that what I did is right from my point of view, and I’d do it every time it’d be needed to defend my friends, at least if I had any… Arthur doesn’t really count, he’s not a real friend, just someone that has been nice to me and that I like. I’m proud to have acted like I thought I would in such a situation, but at the same time I lost so much… Still, I remain like a block of stone, my emotions continue to be blocked. I have the feeling that my insensibility has weakened a bit in the last few years, but now I again feel like I did in my first life and when I came back to life. Feeling nothing but the most intense things, and the pain, slightly weakened.</p><p> </p><p>              My brain doesn’t seem to be able to decide between the memory of the paedophile touching himself and touching Arthur, or the one of my dagger in his throat. I take it from under the pillow, and I watch it for a while. I cleaned it well, there’s no blood on it any more. I put it on my neck, and I feel its sharp edge. I press, and I want to go further, to kill myself again, but I can’t allow that just as I learnt that magic exists. I feel empty. I miss Quentin so much! The void at my heart’s place is painful. I start crying, suffocating, and I muffle the noise into the pillow. I’ve lost so much. What would Quentin think of me now? Weak, a murderer, pathetic. Still unable to fight. I miss him. Why did Arthur hug me? The feeling reminded me of when Quentin used to do it, and that it made me feel better. The contact itself was neutral, and only pulled back a mix of happy memories and rape.</p><p> </p><p>              I need to cut. I take a razor blade from my notebook’s cover. I haven’t fully lost control of myself yet, so I cut on the top of my legs, so that no one can notice anything. Since it’s not satisfying, I cut a bit my arms as well, but don’t manage to restrain myself. Guess I’ll have to wear long sleeves. I drink some blood while thinking about what Quentin would say. It would make him sad… But he’s not there, and he’ll never be there any more. I let him down, he let me down, doesn’t matter. It is time that I give up on him. I hesitate for an instant, and bring the blade just above my collarbone, close to my collarbone, close to the neck but low enough so that a t-shirt will hide the wound. I press as hard as I dare, daring myself to go further, and I slowly draw a rather deep line. It hurts. When I stop, the gash is about five centimetres long and three or four millimetre deep. It bleeds well.</p><p> </p><p>              I feel empty, and I eventually tidy my blade after cleaning it with a tissue. I wait for my wound to stop bleeding before lying down. The one at the collarbone keeps on bleeding a bit, but it doesn’t matter. I make sure that the sheets don’t touch it. I remain again, eyes opened in the dark for a while, and I sleep badly. Too warm, too tense, too many thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>              Eventually, someone knocks at the door and I instantly wake up. It’s Arthur telling me that breakfast is ready. I tell him I’m coming, and quickly check my body. Once again, there’s fewer cuts than there should be. Those that remain are better healed, except for the one at my collarbone. I wonder what role plays my magic abilities in that. Is it possible that I accidentally used it to heal faster? Or do wizards simply have a greater vitality than muggles? Probably a bit of both. The fact that the symbolic scar that I made for Quentin is the least healed let me thinks that the first theory, at least, is probably true. The fact that my body is very young should probably be taken into account as well, it must help.</p><p> </p><p>              Anyway, I change clothes fast, taking care of choosing a long-sleeved t-shirt, then carefully tidy everything else in my suitcase, that I close. My fresh wounds are burning me, but I welcome the pain like I would welcome an old friend. It’s something familiar, and it relives me.</p><p> </p><p>              Arthur’s grandmother is the only one eating with us this morning, apparently his mother already ate and had things to do at the Ministry. The old lady is wearing a wizard cloak and a dress evoking to me the Renaissance. I wouldn’t wear it but I like it. Arthur is wearing blue jeans, a well fitting polo shirt and a Hufflepuff scarf. I assume that my muggle clothes won’t look too weird, even if I can see a wizard cloak resting next to my comrade’s chair.</p><p> </p><p>              We’re just finishing eating when the house elf appears and tells us that a guest is at the entrance. Arthur’s grandmother sends us back to our rooms to prepare ourselves while she’s welcoming him, but when we join her the guest is not gone. It’s one of the Obliviators from yesterday. This time, he’s wearing wizard clothes, and he gives us a look that is probably meant as friendly but doesn’t put me at ease at all. I throw a quick look at Arthur and what I don’t like what I see at all, his stress is too obvious. I fervently hope that the adults will put it on the account of the traumatizing events of the day before. Thankfully the man doesn’t keep us waiting and speaks:</p><p>“I’m very sorry to disturb you so early after the events, but we haven’t been able to find the wand from your aggressor in his shack and were wondering if you knew where it is”</p><p> </p><p>I can’t say that I didn’t expect that, but I don’t really have any story ready. I just hope that the wand is really out of Accio range, and that the Obliviator won’t be using Legilimancy. I simply answer him that I don’t know anything, and hope really hard that Arthur won’t expose me, that I didn’t do a mistake trusting him… Talking about him, I see him hesitate then he starts talking before I have time to panic.</p><p>“Actually, sir, while Vivian was calming the muggles down and brought them to the kitchen, I took the wand and broke it before throwing it into the sea. I didn’t know if and when someone would help us, or if the muggles would panic. I thought it was too dangerous to leave the wand in the shack.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a short silence following Arthur’s words, admiring and shocked for me, thoughtful and proud for his grandmother. The Obliviator speaks again, and he seems both impressed and embarrassed.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, it explains a lot… I would have preferred if we could have destroyed it ourselves, but at least the muggles won’t tumble into it too easily. We’ll try again to find it. Good thinking, young man. You’re studying in Hogwarts, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Yes sir, I’m in second year, Hufflepuff.”</p><p>“Your teachers must be proud of you. Well, I won’t be disturbing you any longer, I wish you a good day.”</p><p> </p><p>And, as easily as that, the man leaves, accompanied by the house elf. I can’t believe Arthur just lied to the Obliviator like that. With a credible excuse, no less! I underestimated that kid, it seems. Why does he do that for me..?</p><p>Arthur’s grandmother interupts the thoughts flooding my brain, saying:</p><p> </p><p>“Shall we get going, if you’re ready?”</p><p> </p><p>We both nod and the old lady directs us to a new room, a living room with a huge fireplace.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll be travelling by floo, I find it more comfortable than apparating. Arthur, you have done this before, you will go first, then the young lady. I will follow you.”</p><p> </p><p>              The process is exactly like described in the books, and Arthur disappears instantly after shouting “Diagon Alley!” and walking into the emerald flames. When it’s my turn, I do the same, anticipating the heat of the fire while admiring its colour. Everything goes flawlessly, and I feel myself being sucked up. I close my eyes for a second, and find myself somewhere else.</p><p> </p><p>xxx</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Je suis heureuse de t'avoir rencontré. Tu as peut-être l'impression que tu ne sers à rien, que je vais toujours mal, mais c'est faux. Tu m'as rendu mes émotions, et tu m'as soutenu depuis qu'on se connaît. Tu ne laisses pas tomber, même si ce serait tellement plus simple. Tu as su m'écouter, et malgré moi j'ai fini par te faire confiance, même si je meurs de peur. J'ai besoin de temps pour changer, pour aller mieux, c'est vrai. Mais tant que tu es là je sais que je pourrai y arriver. Merci.</em>
</p><p>x</p><p>“<em>I’m glad to have met you. You may feel like you’re useless, like I’m always feeling bad, but that’s not true. You brought me back to my feelings, and you supported me ever since we met each other. You don’t let me down, even if it’d be so much more easy. You have listened to me, and in spite of myself I managed to trust you, even if I’m dead scared. I need time to change, to get better, it’s true. But as long as you stay there I know I’ll eventually do it. Thank you.”</em></p><p> </p><p>-SMS sent by Aurore Berger to Quentin Lemage, 03/10/07-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's it for this chapter, what do you think of Arthur, and Vivian's strategy to hide the wand?</p><p>See you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The wizarding world</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys,</p><p>Here's a new chapter since I received a kudo. Basically I think I'll do it that way now. I won't publish unless I receive at least one comment or one kudo, cause honnestly I don't see why I should publish if no one's interested in my story. I still have 5 more chapters translated and an additional 17 to translate so I could publish more. But once again, why do it if no one reads. </p><p>Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this one^^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>          Once I’m on the other side, I lose my balance a bit, disoriented, and see that I’m in a shabby bar with a smiling Arthur directly in front of me. </span>
</p><p>“We need to move to the side, grandma is arriving!”</p><p>
  <span>          I follow him docilely while observing our surroundings. There is two doors, one of each side of the room that is almost deserted. An old man is cleaning glasses behind the counter and two cloak clothed i</span>
  <span>ndividuals</span>
  <span> are talking around a table in the opposite corner of the room. No one is paying attention to us. I use that short alone time with Arthur to whisper quickly:</span>
</p><p>“Well played for earlier. Thank you very much.”</p><p>“It’s normal, don’t worry. We’re friends, aren’t we?”</p><p>I prefer to ignore his affirmation, and add:</p><p>“How did you manage to make up that story so fast?”</p><p>
  <span> “Actually, I thought about it yesterday evening. I thought it m</span>
  <span>ight</span>
  <span> be necessary.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>While he finishes his explanation, his grandmother appears in the room, and dusts herself off with dignity. She then takes Arthur’s hand, greeting the barman with a nod, and leads us to the door located at the back of the bar. Contrary to my expectations, the door opens directly on Diagon Alley. The contrast is immediate with the dark and dusty environment we just left. Here there’s noise, colours, and plenty of people, wizards and other beings that laugh, talk, or bargain loudly. Magic is everywhere! I can see words made of light floating in the air, when it’s not outright objects or people.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          We start by visiting the essential places that I must </span>
  <span>
    <em>absolutely</em>
  </span>
  <span> know according to Arthur’s grandmother. The wands shop, Gringotts (I do my best to observe the goblins without being offending), </span>
  <span>
    <span>
      <span>
        <span>Flourish &amp; Blotts</span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
  <span>… She shows me a cauldron shop w</span>
  <span>hose</span>
  <span> service is “of better quality than in the other shops, as well as the products”. Arthur and I spend a good ten minutes staring at the flying brooms behind a window, and even if I’m not convinced by the concept, I don’t really mind. I would fly on a pink tissue, if it was the price to pay to be able to fly! At least on a broom it’s possible to hang some objects and to be more than one. I wonder if I could attach a skate board on mine, and surf on it… Worth pursuing. For now I have neither a broom nor money.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          Although this last point changes soon because the grandmother, tired of our childish enthusiasm for the brooms gives us three small coins each that we’re allowed to spend the way we want. She r</span>
  <span>etreats into </span>
  <span>the peaceful darkness of a tea salon where we have to meet her “In half an hour Arthur, not one minute more!” and we’re free. My mate shows me small shops that he likes in side streets, and we stop for a few minutes to admire a kind of artist that summons fire and dance with it in an impressive display of skills. He casts his spells with a wand, but without saying a word, and he seems to be shaping the fire, both dangerous and friendly, that is surrounding him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>I like the vaguely medieval architecture of the alleys, and the ancient style of the people. It makes me want to write fantasy stories. But well, I’m already living one. If we can call that a life. Although everything is interesting, I can’t seem to manage being “there”, in the instant. I still have a kind of block, a barrier preventing me from feeling the things fully. But I’m also unable to worry about it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          Eventually I find a pile of second hand books in a small shop and it brings me to a stop. I always loved reading, and I can maybe find something useful. Each book costs two knuts, a</span>
  <span>n</span>
  <span>d it’s a pile of dime romance novels (I have a disgusted f</span>
  <span>rown</span>
  <span> on my face while pushing “The bestiality of a shape-shiffter” as far away from me as I can) and diverse books “De-gnom</span>
  <span>ing</span>
  <span> for </span>
  <span>D</span>
  <span>ummies”, “Twenty </span>
  <span>R</span>
  <span>ecipes </span>
  <span>i</span>
  <span>n</span>
  <span> a </span>
  <span>W</span>
  <span>and </span>
  <span>T</span>
  <span>urn” and I unfortunately don’t find anything about offensive spells, survival, as well as immortality. Well, there’s an obscure book about religion, but it looks so boring that it would probably be impossible for me to read more than a few lines before dying of boredom. In the end, I buy a book called “The </span>
  <span>B</span>
  <span>ig </span>
  <span>B</span>
  <span>ook of </span>
  <span>S</span>
  <span>pells for </span>
  <span>D</span>
  <span>aily </span>
  <span>L</span>
  <span>ife”, which will probably be able to teach me some useful things, even if not answering to why I survived my death. Arthur then brings me to a candy shop, and we spend the rest of our wealth in sweets. It’s rather fun, and the chocolate frogs give me ideas of funny things to do, even if feels pretty weird to eat moving candies. I’ll get used to it. We then join my “friend’s” grandmother, and don’t spend more time in the wizarding street.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          Before going back to the Clifford’s mansion, </span>
  <span>Arthur’s </span>
  <span>grandmother shows me the muggle access </span>
  <span>to Diagon Alley</span>
  <span>, in case it’d be useful to me one day. I worship that woman, honestly. It looks like her ultimate goal is to make my life easy. The bar where the Diagon Alley’s entrance can be found is located in Camden Town, at the end of a half-underground alley. I love it. When we go outside and I turn to the entrance, I can’t see the bar any more. Arthur’s grandmother explains me that one needs to find himself less than ten centimetres away from a wand and have magic to be able to see through the illusion. Although, f</span>
  <span>umbling across</span>
  <span> the wall I can still feel the door </span>
  <span>knob. We go back inside, and the old lady explains us that the street itself is filled with muggle repelling charms, which grants that no one will accidentally find the entrance to the wizarding world. “And even if </span>
  <span>they did</span>
  <span>, that person would also have to randomly open the door to Diagon Alley, that would be a lot of coincidences.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          After this instructive break, we floo back to the mansion. Arthur’s mother is waiting for us there with James. My mate throws himself into his cousin’s arms, and they hug briefly. James looks happy to see us, and relieved. I wonder what he knows about what happened. Did someone tell him that I’m a killer? In any case, he tries to hug me as well, but I </span>
  <span>slip away from his arms, letting him shake my hand instead. He seems a bit disappointed, and I have the feeling that he knows too much for my taste. Apparently, the two cousins and Arthur’s mum will drive me back home. They seem to own some </span>
  <span>form of</span>
  <span> muggle transportation means.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>           We leave soon after that, because my parents expect me early and I don’t really try to speak with James nor Arthur. I just hope that they’ll forget me soon. It was cool to know them, </span>
  <span>but they’re useless distractions. Well, I don’t worry too much about James, but I’m afraid that Arthur is already too attached. I pack my suitcase quickly, hiding carefully my new book and t</span>
  <span>he</span>
  <span> remaining wizard sweets at the bottom, under several layers of dirty clothes. Arthur gives me two knuts to add to my stack “In case you </span>
  <span>go back to our world</span>
  <span>.”. Th</span>
  <span>is</span>
  <span> kid… I thank him and take the money. Am I that predictable?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          The farewells are short, but I take the time to warmly thank Arthur’s grandmother for her welcome</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> and for showing me the wizarding world. We then go inside of a big black sedan and Arthur’s mum sits behind the wheel. I tell jokes and pun during the whole trip, displaying a joy that hasn’t been mine for long</span>
  <span>er then I can</span>
  <span> remember.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>My “parents” are happy to see me again. For once they’re both at home. I have the feeling that Arthur’s mother wants to tell them some things, maybe warn them to pay attention to me, but I make sure not to let her alone with them. In any case their joy when they see that I made friends irks me and I’m glad that the Cliffords don’t stay for too long. I thank them politely, dodge a hug from the cousins, and as soon as they’re gone I hurry to isolate myself in my room. I instantly hide all the compromising objects in a box that I hide at the back of a drawer with some old books and my climbing stuff, where I know that Mrs Winston won’t find them.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>           I eat my dinner with my parents and calmly answer their enthusiastic questions about the camp and my friends. For once, even my coldness doesn’t seem to discourage them. It seems that the fact that I officially have made “friends” convinced them that I’m an actual human being, and greatly reassured them. Sometimes I’m sorry for them to have me. They deserved a real kid, not a monster like myself. Someone who would have been able to love them, that would have been able to share things with them… My vague affection is not enough. In the end, I use tiredness as an excuse to leave the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>          At least, alone in my room, once the door is locked (I retrieved the key w</span><span>hen</span><span> I was five years old, and r</span><span>eluctantly</span><span> the adults have learnt to respect my p</span><span>rivac</span><span>y), I start going through the spellbook. I’</span><span>ll</span><span> recover the wand in a few days, when I’ll be reasonably sure that the Obliviators won’t come back and disturb me. I </span><span>find</span><span> some interesting things. T</span><span>he most interesting,</span><span> I find in the “beauty” section, </span><span>is</span><span> a spell called “Glamour” which allows </span><span>for the castor </span><span>to conceal the skins’ imperfections. It gives it a healthy and clean aspect, even if when touching it one can still feel them. I’ll have to try that, </span><span>it</span><span> should allow me to hide my scars.</span> <span><span><span><span><span>It would come in handy, </span></span></span></span></span><span><span><span><span>and would relieve the pressures of having to restrain myself.</span></span></span></span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><span>          I eventually t</span><span>ry</span> <span>to sleep, stunned all the newness and exhauste</span><span>d</span><span>. Despite all of this, I still need to cut myself before managing to fall asleep. Th</span><span>at</span><span> fucking paedophile, and the time I spent with Arthur and James like they were my friends brought up a lot of things in me. Memories of pain that will never let go of me. Sca</span><span>r</span><span>red for life and further. Doesn’t matter, whatever I do to myself, Quentin is not there any more to care. At least I now know that magic exists, and that saves me.</span></p><p>xxx</p><p>
  <em>« Voler<br/></em>
  <em>S'évader dans le vide<br/></em>
  <em>Avaler l'univers, avide<br/></em>
  <em>Rêver »</em>
</p><p>x</p><p>“<em>Fly<br/></em><em>Escape into the void<br/></em><em>Swallow the universe, eagerly<br/></em><em>Dream”</em></p><p> </p><p>-Extract from a notebook belonging to Aurore Berger, one year before her death-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's it for this chapter. Please comment and leave me kudos, it's the only reward I'll get for this story.<br/>The next chapter is the last one before Hogwarts!</p><p>See you</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. A letter to recruit them all</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yeay! Two kudos! Guess it earns a new chapter^^<br/>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>         July 2015. It’s my first time meeting Arthur again since that summer when my life got turned upside down. Again. In the meantime, I’ve been able to retrieve the paedophile’s wand which almost never leaves me. I crafted an ankle holster similar to my dagger’s in order to keep it in hand’s reach at all time. I’m the one opening the door when I hear somebody ringing, since Mrs Winston is out doing the grocery. I find myself facing him, and it feels weird to see him again. He grew up quite a bit, and he’s wearing muggle clothing, blue jeans with a black short-sleeved shirt. He’s quite muscled, he must be doing sport. And, above all, he looks delighted to see me. He begins to move towards me, as if to hug me, and I instinctively pull back. We shake hands and I let him in.</p><p><span>         He watches with interest as I lead him through the h</span><span>ouse. I bring him to my room, since I have no better idea</span><span>s</span><span>. I have the impression that I’m showing him something too intimate, although I made sure not to let this room show too much about me to the rare people visiting it. I look at my room at the same time as him, as if I was </span><span>just </span><span>discovering it as well. Smaller than his, i</span><span>t’s just as</span><span> tidied as his. </span><span>I have light-blue wallpaper, on which I painted clouds, and fluorescent stars on the ceiling. </span><span><span><span><span>My window is in the left-corner, with a view of the garden, and my desk is just next to it.</span></span></span></span><span> It’s a nice wooden desk, quite big, on which </span><span>r</span><span>e</span><span>st</span><span> some candles, paper, </span><span>a pencil-holder filled with different pens, sharp-objects, and drawing stuff. </span><span><span><span><span>It also includes several drawers; in which I remember having several notebooks, some painting equipment, and various materials I've gathered here and there for crafting purposes.</span></span></span></span> <span>On the wall opposite to us, there </span><span>are</span><span> some drawings I made, my cupboard and my fire staff, and a katana </span><span>firmly secured to the wall. It’s not sharpened, to my great d</span><span>isappointment</span><span>. Finally, on the right, my bed occupies the angle of the room. It’s made, has dark-blue covers, and a nights</span><span>tand</span><span>, as well as a small table and two chairs set next to it.</span></p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>I o</span>
  <span>ffer</span>
  <span> one to Arthur, inviting him to sit, then finally ask him:</span>
</p><p>         “So, what are you doing here? You came alone?”</p><p>         “I have holidays, that’s why. I missed you. And yes, I came alone. I’m fully capable of dealing with muggle means of transportations! How are you?”</p><p>         “I’m still alive, as you can see” (a classical dodge from me) “So what’s up? Did you start doing sport?”</p><p>         “Yes, I started Quidditch, I’m an alternate chaser for my team. And I started climbing, I really enjoyed when we did some!”</p><p>         “There’s a climbing wall in Hogwarts?”</p><p>         “Not exactly, but there’s some nice trees, and Ewald and I climb towers sometimes. One of us stays at the bottom, ready to cast a levitation spell if needed while the other climbs. I think that spending time with you may have had a bad influence on me...”</p><p>         “I don’t doubt it for a second” I say, hiding a smile “Who is Ewald?”</p><p>
  <span>         “He’s my best friend. We met in the </span>
  <span>Hogwarts Express. He’s in Slytherin, but he’s really a good person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>         Arthur seems defensive, as if he was expecting me to contradict him. Since I don’t have any bullshit bias on Hogwarts houses, and I don’t really care about those childish quarrels, my Hufflepuff companion quickly relaxes. He told me that he saw that the paedophile’s wand disappeared from where we had hidden it, and I confirm him that I have it. I use the opportunity to show him the progress I made with magic. I now am able to use Accio, two or three tidying spells, and even make some things levitate, as long as they’re light. Of course, I completely mastered the Glamour which I’m abusing a lot, but I definitively don’t plan on mentioning it to Arthur.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>         He’s both worried and impressed by my progress. He explains me that it can be dangerous to use too much magic at my age and that I should at least have adult supervision, but he’s not able to explain me clearly why. </span>
  <span>
    <span>
      <span>
        <span>I tell him that nothing bad has happened</span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
  <span> to me so far, and that I don’t really have </span>
  <span>any </span>
  <span>capable adults around me. I tell him I don’t need anyone. We remain silent for a </span>
  <span>momen</span>
  <span>t, and I already regret </span>
  <span>having</span>
  <span> opened him. It brings things </span>
  <span>up </span>
  <span>inside of me, and I don’t want anyone to stick t</span>
  <span>heir</span>
  <span> nose in my business.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>         He eventually changes the topic and points at my fire staff on the wall, curious to know what it is. So I bring him to my parents’ garage, because it’s rather tall and most importantly empty at this time of day, and I show him. I started fire staff about six months ago, after seeing a man do it on the street and negotiating a bit with my parents. It’s a stick made of metal, with Kevlar wrapped and fixed on both ends. One has to soak them in oil, light them up, and then the show can start! Juggling with fire is beautiful, especially at night. I love the unique sound of the flames turning in the wind.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>         I haven’t had a lot of practise yet, and the garage’s ceiling stops me from throwing the staff in the air, but I can see that Arthur is enjoying the show. He doesn’t even comment on the dangerousness of the thing. </span>
  <span>Instead, when I’m finished, he just smiles before saying:</span>
</p><p>         “It’s amazing what is possible without magic! Will you teach me?”</p><p>
  <span>         And, at his enthusiasm, I find nothing better to do than agreeing even if all I’m asking for is to get rid of him. I show him some basics that I know, but he has to go back home early (so </span>
  <span>
    <em>saaaaaaad</em>
  </span>
  <span>), and we don’t meet any more this summer, m</span>
  <span>uch to my</span>
  <span> relief. I m</span>
  <span>ay</span>
  <span> have been too cold with him, but it’s b</span>
  <span>etter</span>
  <span> this way. Seeing that kid again </span>
  <span>reminds me of</span>
  <span> the time when I had friends, and it hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>oOo</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p><span>         In the end, I only see Arthur again once or twice in the following year. He doesn’t have a lot of free time, and I think that his mum wary of me. In addition to that, I do all I can to discourage him. Spending time with him </span><span><span><span><span><span>draws out </span></span></span></span></span><span><span><span><span><span>too many</span></span></span></span></span><span><span><span><span><span> old </span></span></span></span></span><span><span><span><span><span>feelings and memories that I don’t want to think about</span></span></span></span></span><span>. I spend my time working h</span><span>ard on my magic</span><span>, and do some escapades on Diagon Alley, looking for information that I don’t find that could explain my existence. Some nights, I google “Quentin Lemage” or other names from the past. I can find some pictures, some informations. I learn f</span><span>or</span><span> instance that Quentin got his BAC* </span><span>with </span><span>honours.</span> <span>Once or twice, I type his phone number on my cell phone, but I never call him. Nothing tells me he’s still living with his parents anyway, and I only know their landline number. And even if he wa</span><span>s</span><span>, it would be insane doing it. I will die again soon, and even without that he wouldn’t want me. I finally left his life, t</span><span>he purpose was never to go back to harassing him!</span></p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>         I get very sick once, and find out on this occasion that my Glamours disappear when I’m to weak. Suspicious, I check if they’re staying active when I’m asleep, and I discover that’s not the case. At first. With time and practise, I manage to stabilize </span>
  <span>
    <span>
      <span>
        <span>them. As long as I’m healthy, they won’t just disappear.</span>
      </span>
    </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p><span>         The world around me still doesn’t really manage to get to me, I live behind my walls. My joy is never full, as well as my cheerfulness. My pain and my loneliness are. Sometimes I believe I’m finally g</span><span>oing</span><span> insane, by dint of always re</span><span>l</span><span>iving the past, especially since the thing with the paedophile. My blade in his neck. His hands on me and Arthur. The feeling of the Imperio. A bed with green sheets. Quentin’s exhaustion. My father rejecting me. I just want t</span><span>o not</span> <span><em>be</em></span><span> any more. And sometimes, I’m aware of how absurd it is staying locked up like that, trapped in my past. But I’m not able to detach m</span><span>yself</span><span> from it, and I’m unable to </span><span>even </span><span>want it. My apathy turns everything off. I can’t feel anything, anything but pain, always, and I drown myself in the monotony of the days. And if only I w</span><span>asn’t</span><span> so scared to live </span><span><em>again</em></span><span>, I would have killed myself a second time already. Instead, I’m waiting. I’m waiting t</span><span>o be</span><span> in Hogwarts. In the wizarding world, maybe I will find answers. I have to, because I can’t take it any more. I’m only living to be sure I’ll die. If one can call </span><span>i</span><span>t living when I’m content existing, passively.</span></p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>oOo</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>         10<sup>th</sup> of July, 2018. I’m eating with my parents when someone rings the bell. Mrs Winston opens, and comes back pretty fast to get my mother, saying “It’s about Vivian...”. I’m both worried and curious, I wonder what someone from the outside world wants from me. So few people even know I exist! Then I think, and hope starts growing in me. After all, if I’m going to Hogwarts, it’ll be this September. Maybe it has something to do with that, in that case?</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>         My adoptive mother is soon back, looking a bit troubled, accompanied by a nicely clothed woman. She is rather tall, has long black hair pulled into a pony tail, and is about fifty years old. My mother dismisses Mrs Winston while directing us to the living room. I stand up and follow my father who seems unhappy to interrupt his meal. We sit in the armchairs, and I remain slightly aside. I wait for something to happen. The woman doesn’t keep us waiting and introduces herself in a calm and patient voice.</p><p>
  <span>         “</span>
  <span>Hello, and thank you for having me. As I quickly explained Mrs Mackson, my name is Alix Aster. I’m Hogwarts’ Muggle </span>
  <span>World </span>
  <span>S</span>
  <span>tudies</span>
  <span> teacher. I’m aware it may sound like a joke, but the school, as well as the wizarding world are real. I’m in charge for visiting the muggle-born pupils in order to make their integration in our school easier, and create a link with the families.”</span>
</p><p>My adoptive father confines himself to raising a sceptical eyebrow, and asking:</p><p>         “And of course, you have the means of proving what you’re saying?”</p><p>My adoptive mother suppresses a nervous laughter while the teacher quietly draws a wand from her purse and pronounces “Wingardium Leviosa”. My dad has a small shocked gasp seeing his favourite armchair discovering the joys of flying, even performing an enthusiastic loop in front of me. Probably taking pity, the teacher doesn’t prolong the show, even though I can sense she’s amused. She turns towards me, since my parents don’t seem capable of expressing any coherent thought at the moment.</p><p>         “You don’t look surprised. Have you already done things like what I did? Or just strange things that nobody else is able to do?”</p><p>         “Yes, I’ve already done magic, and by the way I already knew the wizarding world existed. And no, I don’t plan on explaining further.”</p><p>The teacher just stares at me, stunned, and I briefly wonder if I have been too dry. Whatever, I don’t care.</p><p>The teacher’s surprise caused by my revelations and my way of speaking amuses my dad and allows him to recover.</p><p>         “Alright, I believe you.” he says “Don’t mind my daughter, she loves putting adults to their place by showing off how smart she is. I’m not even surprised she already knows all of this. And so, you’re representing Hogwarts? Like in the books?”</p><p>
  <span>         “Indeed.” answers the teacher, regaining </span>
  <span>countenance. “I a</span>
  <span>m</span>
  <span> to give your daughter her letter, and I will come back in a month to bring her, with other muggle-born </span>
  <span>students</span>
  <span>, to buy what she’ll need for her studies, if it’s fine by you.”</span>
</p><p>While speaking, she searches through her purse and takes out an envelope on which are written my name and address. She gives it to me and I open it without delay.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><dl>
<dd>
<span><em>         “Dear M</em></span><span><em>s Mackson</em></span><span><em>,</em></span>
</dd>
<dd></dd>
<dd><em>We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.</em></dd>
<dd><em>A teacher will accompany you in the wizarding world in order to make your purchases, and you can refer to them for all questions you may have.</em></dd>
<dd><em>Yours sincerely,</em></dd>
<dd><em>Minerva McGonagall, Headmisstress"</em></dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd>
<span>         I finish reading and an unintended smile escapes me. I did it. I will go to Hogwarts. I will finally have access to useful information, and I will also be able to fly, and try out all the things I wanted to do. I give my mum the letter, who reads it before passing it to my dad. They have questions for the teacher, and she spends quite some time informing and reassuring them. In the end she leaves them a small </span><span>explanatory leaflet on wizarding world, and assures them that Hogwarts is way less dangerous in real life than in the books. They tell them that there haven't been any dark wizard problem in the United Kingdom since the events described in the books. I'm not sure that it fully reassures my adoptive parents, but they're long resigned not to have any control on my life. So they nod, smiling, still disturbed, and I assure the teacher that I'll be ready to go and get my supplies in a month. I don't show her out, and I avoid my father who would like to </span><span><span>speak with</span></span><span> me. I don't want to talk, I need to think about next step.</span>
</dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd><span>oOo</span></dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd>
<span>         The month goes by rather fast, and my parents slowly accept magic's existence, and everything it means for them. Mrs Winston is sad to hear that I'll be leaving the house to study elsewhere, but makes a point in telling me multiple times how proud and happy she is that I'll be studying in an elite school, and that I'm socialising. </span><span>I... </span><span>I bide my time. And I promise myself that if I haven't found any answer about my second life by the end of my first year in Hogwarts, then I'll kill m</span><span>yself</span><span> and we'll see what'll happen</span><span> next</span><span>.</span>
</dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd>
<span>         On the </span><span><span>e</span></span><span><span>stablished</span></span><span> day, Alix Aster comes back to buy my </span><span><span>s</span></span><span><span>uplies</span></span><span>, and my mother, who took </span><span><span>t</span></span><span><span>he</span></span><span> day </span><span>off</span><span>, accompanies us. The teacher doesn't mind, but warns us that my mother will not be able of accessing the wizarding world alone, and shouldn't leave the group under any circumstances. We are in comany of three other muggle-borns</span><span>,</span><span> and the father of one of them- a red-haired kid that holds on to his hand as if his life depended on it. I don't talk to anyone and am content enjoying the trip while my adoptive mother quietly speaks wih the teacher, asking her about her job, telling her anectodes about her own. I learn that the teacher is also muggle born, and that she travelled a lot before accepting this job in Hogwarts. She lived in the muggle world, </span><span>a</span><span>t least she must know what she's talking about in class.</span>
</dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd>         Our first stop is Gringotts, where a bank account is created for each pupil. Since we're muggle-borns, we're all allowed a small scholarship, the exact amount being determined by our needs. My mother instantly adds some more money on my account, and I find myslef better off than the other children. I withdraw more cash than needed, in order to have money for Hogwarts, and my mother lets me do so. She's used to my independance, and trustes me.</dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd>         After the bank, we go to Ollivander's. After some unsuccesful attempts, a wand reacts postiviely to my presence. As I hear from the merchant, it's made of cypress with dragon heart, and measures twelve and a half inches (screw those British measurements...). It apparently destined me to a heroic death (lol.). It seems that this wand is appropriate for someone with a noble heart who is able to learn fast, but it's also easy to turn to the dark arts. Well, if the dude wanted to scare me, he failed. In any case, I rather like my new wand. I can already feel that it'll answer me even better than the paedophile's.</dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd>
<span>         Once we're done with the wands, we travel from shop to shop without any trouble, and, not counting the teacher, I must be the only one who doesn't look amazed and impressed by everything going on around me. I can't find any opportunity to be on my own in order to make some personal purchases, and it's quite frustrating. Anyway, the visit comes to an end, and the teacher makes us tidy our purchases in our newly bought trunks (which capacity is so </span><span><span>h</span></span><span><span>uge</span></span><span> that if the opening </span><span>was big enough one could almost fit my room inside). The teacher then miniaturize the trunks for three hours, warning us to let them at a spot with a lot of space for when they'll go back to their normal size, then everyone goes their way. My adpotive mother babbles </span><span>all the way back about what she has seen, still amazed, and I'm slightly smiling, happy that she enjoyed </span><span>herself</span><span>, </span><span>fully</span><span> aware of how little joy I'm bringing her.</span>
</dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd>oOo</dd>
<dd>
<span>         While waiting for the start of the term, I read </span><span>great</span><span> with interest my school books, skipping only the never-ending ingredient lists in </span><span>P</span><span>otions book, and the explanations from the </span><span>M</span><span>uggle </span><span>World </span><span><span>S</span></span><span><span>tudies</span></span><span> book, </span><span>prefering to first learn the practical things I can fin. I decide that the </span><span>H</span><span>istory of </span><span>M</span><span>agic book can wait </span><span><span>u</span></span><span><span>ntil</span></span><span> I see how many interesting spells I already have to try. I keep on training my magic, without using my new wand, since it's tracked, as I'm officially underaged. I can't wait </span><span>to</span><span> be in the wizarding world to try it. Only by holding it into my hand I can feel it channel my power, and sense it better.</span>
</dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd>
<span>         The day before school finally </span><span><span>b</span></span><span><span>egin</span></span><span>s, and I prepare my things myself. I keep the paedophile's wand on me, and stuff into one of my trunk's drawers- my climbing </span><span>equipment</span><span>, my fire staff, my </span><span>D</span><span>aily </span><span>L</span><span>ife spellbook and my favourite notebook. Another drawer welcomes the broom I bought on Diagon Alley a few days ago, which cost me almost all my money. I sleep very </span><span><span>p</span></span><span><span>oorl</span></span><span>y that night, feverish and impatient to finally go to Hogwarts. I hope with all my heart that I will finally know why I'm still living. And that I will manage not to murder anyone by then...</span>
</dd>
<dd>
<br/><br/>
</dd>
<dd><span>xxx</span></dd>
</dl><p>
  <em>« Et chercher, dans les textes des autres une forme de réconfort. Se chercher des frères, des jumeaux, entremêler son âme à leurs mots et se trouver une famille illusoire dans ce qu'on croit comprendre. Fratrie d'encre plutôt que de sang. Partage tout à la fois effrayant et nécessaire. Vital. Parlons nous la même langue ? Comprenons nous ou bien croyons nous simplement nous comprendre ? Confier absurdement nos secrets au papiers, codés par nos choix de mots, et aspirer à être lu, à être compris. Forts, forts sont ces mots qui nous lient, alors même qu'une goutte d'eau noierait l'encre tout comme un rien peut effacer nos vies. Pour certains, une quête d'immortalité absurde, pour d'autres juste ce besoin d'un jour être compris. Confier son âme à des étrangers, ou au contraire la conserver précieusement pour ne l'offrir qu'à ceux que l'on tient en plus haute confiance, tout en redoutant les repousser. Écrire, toujours. Se diluer dans les mots qui au fond ne pourront pas rendre justice à ce que l'on pense, ressent, et ignore penser et ressentir. Et parfois, par des mots, créer des émotions et des pensées qui transcendent le texte. Écrire, partager et lire. »</em>
</p><p>
  <em>x</em>
</p><dl>
<dd><em>"And seek, in other people's texts a kind of comfort. Seeking brothers, twins, intertwine one's soul to their words and find oneself an illusory family in what we believe we understand. Siblings by the ink rather than the blood. Sharing both scary and necessary. Vital. Do we speak the same language? Do we really understand each other or do we simply believe we do? Absurdly confying our secrets to the paper, encoded by our choice of words, and longing to be read, to be understood. Strong, how strong are those words biding us, even though a simple drop of water would blur the ink within an instant as the slightest nothing can erase our lives. For some, an absurd quest for immortality, for others just that need to one day be understood. Confide one's soul to strangers, or to the contrary preciously holding onto it and only offering it to those we hold in highest trust, while dreading to scare them away. Writing, always. Dilute oneself in the words that in the end won't be able to do justice to what we think, feel, and ignore thinking and feeling. And sometimes, through words, create emotions and thoughts transcendenting the text. Write, share and read."</em></dd>
<dd>-Extract from a notebook belonging to Aurore Berger and kept by Quentin Lemage after her death-</dd>
</dl><p> </p><p>*BAC : <span>French academic qualification obtained at the end of secondary studies</span></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, how did you like it?<br/>To what House do you think she'll be sent?<br/>See you at some point (when I'll have received comments or kudos)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Hogwarts Express</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey there!</p><p>I'd like to thank the person who left a kudo.<br/>Enjoy this new chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span>          My adoptive parents both come into the car with me. My father helps me load my trunk into the car boot, barely fitting. My mother drives. She mentions her visit to Diagon Alley again, enthusiastic. Both her and my father are deeply disappointed when I tell them it’ll be easier if they don’t accompany me on the train platform. I don’t need them, and I don’t exactly know how to make it so a Muggle can enter and e</span><span>xit</span><span> the </span><span>entrance at</span><span> platform </span><span>7</span><span><span><span><span><span>½</span></span></span></span></span><span>.</span> <span><span><span><span><span>Yes, Platform 7 </span></span></span></span></span><span><span><span><span>½, because Platform 9 ¾ is </span></span></span></span><span>part of the fake information contained in the books. Even if Muggles wouldn’t be able to cross the barrier, it would still be a pain for wizards trying to be sneaky to have a full pack of Muggles at the entrance. No, the real entrance of the Wizarding </span><span>W</span><span>orld stands between the </span><span>P</span><span>latforms </span><span>S</span><span>even and </span><span>E</span><span>ight, more exactly at their end. I don’t have more information, but Mrs Aster said I couldn’t miss it. So… We’ll see. I’</span><span>l</span><span>l manage anyway, in worst case I have Arthur’s phone number somewhere on my phone, even if I have no will to use it and that I’m not even sure he’s reachable in the Wizarding </span><span>W</span><span>orld.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          That’s how I find myself pus</span>
  <span>h</span>
  <span>ing a trolley, on which my parents clumsily </span>
  <span>put </span>
  <span>my trunk, through the overcrowded station. Because of course it’s THE start of the term from Harry Potter’s epilogue and a rather impressive mass of people dressed as wizards are trying to reach </span>
  <span>P</span>
  <span>latforms </span>
  <span>N</span>
  <span>ine and </span>
  <span>Te</span>
  <span>n. I guess it has the benefit of helping real wizards to go unnoticed… Like me and that stupid trunk. How much I want to go away from all those people… I finally reach my goal and bug for a moment. I understand why Mrs Aster told me I couldn’t miss the entrance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          The arrows (bright, pink, with light effects) start upon arrival on the </span>
  <span>P</span>
  <span>latforms </span>
  <span>S</span>
  <span>even and </span>
  <span>E</span>
  <span>ight. They write, in </span>
  <span>over</span>
  <span>sized letters “WIZARDS, THIS WAY!”. And, no, </span>
  <span>it </span>
  <span>definitively isn’t discreet... When I pass the first I’m surprised to see it flash in blue, and the text changes t</span>
  <span>o</span>
  <span> “WELCOME!!”. Once I finished passing it, it goes back to its initial appearance. Ten meters away, the next arrow displays soberly (as soberly as purple caps with </span>
  <span>a </span>
  <span>yellow background can be) “Thank you for choosing the Hogwarts Express, don’t forget your luggage on the Muggle side, the Obliviators have better things to do, such as drinking some Firewhisky in the closest bar!”. The next sign reads “I </span>
  <span>am </span>
  <span>informed that I have to </span>
  <span>stop joking about the Obliviators, the censorship is crazy these days!”. </span>
  <span>I can’t stop myself from laughing </span>
  <span>at those surrealistic signs. Part of me wonders if Muggles regularly see people affected with hilarity breakdowns on this platform. Probably, twice a year… </span>
  <span>Eventually, I reach a wall on which hang three arrows (still pink, bright with light-effects) pointing </span>
  <span>to the wall</span>
  <span>, indicating “If no prankster </span>
  <span>has </span>
  <span>shifted th</span>
  <span>e</span>
  <span>se arrows two meters </span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span>o the left, you have to enter the wall here… Have a nice trip!”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          Damn it, I don’t know who installed that, but I’ll worship the author(s) who created that piece of art for ever. Still laughing (but I’m internalizing), I push my trolley against the wall, hoping really hard for the entrance to be there and not some place else (two meters to the </span>
  <span>right</span>
  <span>, for instance). Lucky for me t</span>
  <span>hey’re in the correct spot</span>
  <span>, and I finally find myself on the Hogwarts Express’ platform. On this side, everything looks exactly like in the books. I arrived early, and there’s not many people around. Nice. If I am in the Wizarding </span>
  <span>W</span>
  <span>orld, that also means… That I’m finally able to use my wand!! I take it out of my truck, and happily welcome the feeling of holding it inside of my hand, before casting a levitation spell on my bulky luggage. </span>
  <span>It works even better than with my old wand, and I enter the train followed by my truck floating behind me like some sort of psychic powered whale. I </span>
  <span>grimace as it hits the corridor walls, and tell myself that I’ll have to learn a miniaturi</span>
  <span>z</span>
  <span>ation spell very soon. I think it s</span>
  <span>hould</span>
  <span> be somewhere in my Charms book, it’ll keep me busy for the trip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>o</span>
  <span>Oo</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>           I choose an empty compartment at the end of the train and lock the door, hoping that no one will come so far to annoy me. </span>
  <span>I put my trunk on the bench seat in front of me, making sure to take </span>
  <span>up</span>
  <span> as much place as physically possible. The goal is to discourage anyone </span>
  <span>from engaging</span>
  <span> in social interactions with me. Then, I lie down on my own bench seat, stretching as much as I can, with the same goal in mind, and pretend to be sleeping. The good old technique of the rude invasive girl “Get the fuck away from me, thank you very much”. My strategy works out rather well, and I can hear the train being filled little by little (judging by the kids screams). I wonder if Arthur will be looking for me. I hope not, my life will be more simple. He must be in seventh year now… It will be weird seeing him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>           Sadly, my luck doesn’t hold, because at the moment I start wondering when the train will finally be leaving, a blond-haired child tries opening my compartment door. Finding it closed, he takes a wand from his pocket, unlocks the door, and enters while locking the door again behind him. He’s way too well clothed for a kid this age, in a formal kind. Pure blood? He stares at me and lets out a </span>
  <span>sigh, so I stop pretending to be asleep to try a more direct strategy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Would you mind going to another compartment? You see, I want to have peace”</p><p> </p><p>“I noticed, thanks. We both want the same, so you move your trunk and I sit, then we can ignore each other for the rest of the trip. Fine for you?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          Well, I guess my intimidation attempt failed. At this point, I just make my trunk levitate to the luggage net after r</span>
  <span>etrieving</span>
  <span> my spellbook </span>
  <span>from it</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>The other kid sits carefully next to the window without facing me, and puts a huge headset on his ears before opening book, </span>
  <span>the title of </span>
  <span>which I cannot see. I suppose I could have had a worse companion. The train finally starts moving and I let out a sigh while pl</span>
  <span>ugging </span>
  <span>in</span>
  <span> my earphones. Unfortunately, my phone seems not to have survived the e</span>
  <span>ntrance into the Wizarding world and refuses to turn on. Life sucks. Such a long trip, </span>
  <span>and </span>
  <span>without music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          Since I don’t have much better to do, I focus on my spellbook and quickly find the reduction spell. It doesn’t look that complicated. I make my trunk levitate to the bench next to me, and try to reproduce the moves and formula described in the book. </span>
  <span>The first time, nothing happens, and at my second attempt the trunk shrinks only to instantly go back to its normal si</span>
  <span>z</span>
  <span>e. After some more attempts though, I manage to reduce it more sustainably. I try lifting it, but its weight didn’t change. I give it its normal size back and get my Daily Life book. I’m quite sure I saw a weight-light</span>
  <span>en</span>
  <span>ing spell somewhere inside. </span>
  <span>I miniaturize the trunk again to read, because it takes up too much space for my taste.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          I’</span>
  <span>m </span>
  <span>cast</span>
  <span>ing</span>
  <span> a new series of </span>
  <span>spells to try and lighten up my trunk this time, when the boy puts </span>
  <span>down</span>
  <span> his book and remove</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span> his headset before standing up. I hope he’s not about to complain about the noise, because if I can’t practise my spells I will die of boredom without music to listen. But no, instead he corrects my wand movements before saying:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “You’re quite s</span>
  <span>trange</span>
  <span>. Are you in first year?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Yes I am, why you ask?”</p><p> </p><p>The kid doesn’t answer, but looks intrigued. I give up and ask him:</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing, I was wondering, are your parents wizards or Muggles?”</p><p> </p><p>“Muggles, but you’ll have to explain me why you’re asking those questions.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs, </span>
  <span>but eventually deigns telling me what is bothering him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“You’re using magic as if you were used to it and trained, but you just told me that you’re starting first year, yet you didn’t react when seeing me. What makes sense if you’re a muggle-born, but that still makes you weird.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Oh, because I was supposed to react in a specific way upon seeing you?” I ask, trying not to laugh at his </span>
  <span>arrogance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you’ll know about it eventually. Let’s say that my parents, especially my father, are not really popular in Wizarding world, and so neither am I.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see. Well, don’t worry, I don’t give a fuck. So who’s your father?”</p><p> </p><p>“If I tell you, will you explain me how you’re so at ease with magic?”</p><p> </p><p>“Deal.” I feel like I’m being tricked, but whatever.</p><p> </p><p>“Draco Malfoy. My name is Scorpius, what about you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Vivian Eris, nice to meet you, and welcome to the Sucky Names Club.”</p><p>
  <span>I answer, without thinking twice. A Malfoy! I can understand that he didn’t want to mix with other people. It’s weird for me to meet a novel character in real life… OH MY GOD. Does he know, for the fanfictions on the internet? Like let’s say, the hard lemons between his dad and Harry Potter? Part of me is dying out of laugh</span>
  <span>ter</span>
  <span>, the other is trying to imagine the impact </span>
  <span>it can have on all those people’s life, and on a whole magic society…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“And so, the magic?” Scorpius’ voice, slightly annoyed, takes me out of my thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>“Magic. Ehm, actually I read the Harry Potter books when I was younger, and since the first day I had my wand I tried as many things as I could, I find it amazing!”</p><p> </p><p>“We agree on that. You haven’t had any trouble with the Aurors?”</p><p> </p><p>“Obviously not. One simply needs to avoid using their Tracked wand in a non-magical place to have peace, and it was something I was able to do.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “I see. Which House do you think you’ll </span>
  <span>sorted into</span>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Probably Gryffindor, otherwise Slytherin. You?”</p><p> </p><p>Scorpius hesitates for a moment, seemingly surprised, then answers.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, you’re REALLY weird, usually people don’t even ask me. But actually, I’m not sure. Probably Slytherin… But I’m not so certain.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, wait and see. Every House has its interest.”</p><p> </p><p>Scorpius nods with a slightly frozen smile, and I realize than one, I just had a civilized conversation with an eleven-years old kid, two, I appreciated it, and three, worse, that I just tried comforting him. Fuck. Socializing with other human beings has a disastrous influence on me. In order to forget that traumatizing moment, I ask him:</p><p> </p><p>“Your headset, it allows you to listen to music? How expensive is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not much, something like three Galleons.”</p><p> </p><p>“Where’d you buy it? Is there any other cheaper option?”</p><p> </p><p>“On Diagon Alley, in the Sounds of Science shop. But no, I don’t think so, sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As I’m already bidding the little money I have left goodbye, two children knock at our compartment door. Scorpius sighs, but unlocks the door and lets them in. The newcomers are identical twins. They have black hair, green eyes, and are like two peas in a pod. They appear to know Scorpius, because they smile at him, and ask:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Are you avoiding us?” (twin number one)</p><p> </p><p>“If you don’t love us any more, you should have told us directly instead of hiding at the bottom of the train!” (twin number two).</p><p> </p><p>Scorpius simply sighs deeply before answering.</p><p> </p><p>“I just wanted to have some peace. We will never hear the end of it if people see us together, and I wanted to at least have reached Hogwarts before creating scandals. I promised father to keep out of trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Come on, people will find out eventually, for those who don’t already know. We kept you a seat in our compartment, are you coming? We have a new girl with us, she is super nice, and cute t</span>
  <span>oo!</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Although you already seem to have company, who is this?”</p><p> </p><p>“My name is Vivian, and you have my blessing to bring Scorpius and leave me to read in peace. And who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>The twins look briefly surprised, then twin number two answers:</p><p> </p><p>“Charming. I’m Albus Potter.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I’m Severus. Scorpius, you coming?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, coming.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>           The blond looks both amused and resigned. He tidies his headset and book and follows the </span>
  <span>other</span>
  <span> kid</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span> with an enthusiasm that proves that all his reluctance was just a show. I lock the door behind them. At least now I can have peace. </span>
  <span>Nevertheless, those twins… Looks like “the Cursed Child” won’t happen. And that the book series’ epilogue hasn’t been written by someone who could see the future. Although it seems that friendship between Potter and Malfoy children </span>
  <span>seems to be happening. I ignore the loneliness starting to se</span>
  <span>ep in</span>
  <span>, and enjoy the landscape, giving up on my magical training for the moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>o</span>
  <span>Oo</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          The train drives through steep hills, meandering between bright blue lakes and sometimes crossing vertiginous bridges. I think about trying to climb on the train’s roof for fun, but I think I’ll wait for the r</span>
  <span>ide</span>
  <span> back. I a</span>
  <span>ctually want</span>
  <span> to reach Hogwarts today. The remaind</span>
  <span>er</span>
  <span> of the trip is rather chilled and I use the peace to get changed quickly, putting my Hogwarts uniform on for the second time of my life. I refused to take a skirt, and I find the trousers a bit too fragile to do stunts. I hope no one counts on me to wear the</span>
  <span>m</span>
  <span> often.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Eventually we reach our goal, and I hurry to leave the train before being caught in the crowd. As in the books, Hagrid is there and shouts.</p><p> </p><p>“First years! This way!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          He looks a lot like h</span>
  <span>is</span>
  <span> description f</span>
  <span>rom</span>
  <span> the books, and his size is truly impressive, especially when compared to mine. When I pass close to the carts, I can see the Thestrals, and I have to make an effort not to get closer. I find them beautiful. Beautiful and disturbing. I can also see Arthur e</span>
  <span>xiting</span>
  <span> the train, wearing his Hufflepuff uniform, while I’m joining Hagrid. He doesn’t see me, and I don’t call him. We’ll meet again soon enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>           Once all the first years have gathered, we start walking. Most of my comrades’ attention is focussed on the trio formed by the Potter twins and Scorpius Malfoy, and the three of them resolutely pretend not to take notice. </span>
  <span>Actually, they form a quartet, since a girl is keeping them company, but people don’t really pay attention to her. I suppose she doesn’t have famous parents. We reach the lake after about ten minutes of walk and I get to the front of the group. I sit first in one of the boats, which </span>
  <span>look in a really bad shape. I’</span>
  <span>m kind of glad</span>
  <span> we had to leave or trunks </span>
  <span>o</span>
  <span>n the train… The boats are filled little by little and two kids, a boy and a girl, join me, then another child with glasses that make him look even younger than he probably is. Eventually, Hagrid makes the boats start moving and we slide on the dark water. The only sounds to be heard are the wind, the water, and the quiet sounds of the words whispered by the exhausted and curious children.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Hogwarts’ sight, bright in the night, is gorgeous. The lights reflect in the dark depths of water, and I tell myself that I’ll absolutely have to come back here, at night, alone. I let my hand dip into the cold water, and give up on my midnight swim idea, at least until I’ll have mastered the heating spell. After some time we finally reach the castle, and I get ready for the Sorting.</p><p> </p><p>xxx</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Silence des mots retenus par mes lèvres<br/></em>
  <em>Silence des sanglots que j'étouffe en pleurant<br/></em>
  <em>Silence de ma souffrance au gré de mes fièvres<br/></em>
  <em>Que j'essaye d'exorciser en m'ouvrant</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Silence des mots devenus des barrières<br/></em>
  <em>Silence des illusions réduites à néant<br/></em>
  <em>Silence écrasant sur ma vie toute entière<br/></em>
  <em>Qui régnera toujours, tout puissant</em>
</p><p>x</p><p>
  <em>Silence of the words held back from my lips<br/></em>
  <em>Silence of the sobs that I stifle while crying<br/></em>
  <em>Silence of my pain following my longings<br/></em>
  <em>That I try to exorcize by opening up</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Silence of the words which became barriers<br/></em>
  <em>Silence of the illusions nullified<br/></em>
  <em>Crushing silence on my entire life<br/></em>
  <em>Who will reign forever, all mighty</em>
</p><p> </p><p>-Poem written by Aurore Berger shortly after her brother passed away-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, what did you think? I absolutely didn't plan for Scorpius to play a role in this story, but when I first wrote this chapter I asked myself who would sit at the very end of the train, and well, that happened. How do you like my canon modification?<br/>There's a rational reason why the end of the HP series is not real in my fic while the rest is. (as well as there's a rational reason why Vivian lives). <br/>Anyway, see you at some point I guess!<br/>I'll be looking forward constructive comments/thanks/kudos</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Sorting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here's a new chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it. Thanks to the guest who left kudos.</p><p>Have fun.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>          We reach Hogwarts gates and the teacher welcoming us is as small as me. His voice, despite being reedy, can he heard by everyone as he introduces himself:</p><p> </p><p>          “Good evening everyone, and welcome to Hogwarts! I am this school’s assistant director, Filius Flitwick. Now, follow me, we will proceed to the Sorting!”</p><p> </p><p>          We follow him and soon reach the Great Hall. It’s a bit disconcerting to be here, after having read the books and watched the movies, everything looks familiar and strange at the same time. Instinctively, my peers close ranks at the entrance, impressed by the room’s size and the hundreds of older students staring at us, more or less interested in us.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          We cross the room in a relative silence, and stand on either side of the Sorting Hat sitting on its barstool at the foot of the teacher’s table. It starts singing, talking about the different Houses, like in the books. I notice that contrary to what I read, the Sorting Hat doesn’t seem to encourage unity this time, but rather celebrates something that already exist</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span>. Once the song is over, Flitwick calls the beginning of the Sorting, and pulls a long list out of his pocket. We’re about sixty new students, it will last… I still pay attention to the beginning, everything happens like in the books, it’s fascinating. The first pupil to be called, Anna Arstrid, is a small brown-haired girl who keeps her chin up as if to prove the world she’s not afraid. I approve what she does, and clap my hands when she’s sent to Slytherin. I notice that not only the green and silver table is cheering, but also other students in the whole room do. After Anna, it’s a rather tall, black-haired boy’s turn. His name is Jehen Beewater, and he’s sent to Ravenclaw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          After se</span>
  <span>veral more names</span>
  <span>, I lose track, and let my gaze wander the different tables. I see Arthur in Hufflepuff, but I’m too far away from him to be able to see the look on his face. I don’t think he noticed me, since I’m blending a bit with the crowd. He’s talking to a guy sitting at Slytherin’s table, behind him. Flitwick eventually calls “Mackson, Vivian-Eris!”. My full name. Amazing. Now everyone will mistake me for a pure-blood. I walk towards the Sorting Hat without showing any hesitation, even if to be fair I dread the moment I will have to put it on. I try very hard to hide my secrets in a corner of my mind. I hate the idea that something will be able to read my mind. Reminds me that I will have to learn O</span>
  <span>cclumency</span>
  <span> really fast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          Flitwick helps me putting the Sorting Hat on my head. It’s too big for me and falls on my eyes, making me feel vulnerable in the middle of this room with no eyes to see. I was expecting it, but I almost jump when hearing the Sorting Hat’s voice in my head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Well, well, well</span>
  <span>, </span>
  <span>i</span>
  <span>f th</span>
  <span>is</span>
  <span> isn’t an interesting young lady! No need to worry that much, my child, I do not care about your secrets, I’m just trying to sort you in the best of my abilities. Let’s see… </span>
  <span>It’s interesting, I’m not used to sort people with such developed personality. You’d have a place in each House. Ravenclaw for you creativity and your curiosity of the world and the things.</span>
</p><p>Slytherin for your hiding abilities, your methods and your way to prioritize efficient ways to fight over style and fair-play. And even if you never gave it free reign, you’re capable of ambition.</p><p>But there’s Gryffindor. You are brave, yes, even reckless without being completely oblivious. You are always ready to face the unexpected, and you often rush without taking everything in account.</p><p>
  <span>And, mo</span>
  <span>st</span>
  <span> importantly, there’s Hufflepuff. You are loyal above everything, and even if you’re trying to hide it </span>
  <span>from even</span>
  <span> yourself for now. </span>
  <span>E</span>
  <span>ven if you don’t want to trust anyone, your motivation, your fire, comes from your friends. What you wouldn’t do for yourself, you’d do it for them without a</span>
  <span>ny</span>
  <span> hesitation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have any friends.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “I can read in your mind that you want to face the truth, so why are you lying to yourself? Anyway, that’s not the topic. W</span>
  <span>ere </span>
  <span>I was to sort you in Ravenclaw, I don’t think you’d be happy. Your creativity doesn’t need the help of this House to run free, and you wouldn’t feel at </span>
  <span>ease</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>W</span>
  <span>ere</span>
  <span> I to send you to Slytherin, you would perfect your abilities at playing a role, and probably learn to think more before making a move. It could be enriching for you. </span>
</p><p>I could also sort you to Gryffindor. There, you’d be with mates that’d help you surpass yourself, and you wouldn’t be lost.</p><p>
  <span>However, I think that you’d be better off in Hufflepuff. You </span>
  <span>c</span>
  <span>ould learn to trust people again, and you wouldn’t be alone. Yes, it’s probably the best House for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“No way! I refuse to go to Hufflepuff. I’ll take Slytherin or Gryffindor. No, rather Gryffindor.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Because you are so scared that Slytherins would notice too much about you, and that Hufflepuffs would care too much about you? But alright, if I would have sorted you as you were </span>
  <span>when</span>
  <span> actually eleven, the choice I would have made </span>
  <span>then</span>
  <span> would </span>
  <span>have </span>
  <span>b</span>
  <span>e</span>
  <span>en</span>
  <span>… GRYFFINDOR!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          I hastily remove the Sorting Hat while keeping a straight face. People clap their hands and I join the table of my House. I sit next to a group of quite old students, they’ll be likely to engage a conversation with me. I try not to think too much about what the Sorting Hat said. </span>
  <span>Fortunately, the Sorting keeps on going and distracts me, because the next to be called is “Malfoy, Scorpius!” and everyone suddenly pays attention. He stays as long as me under the Hat, then it shouts: “HUFFLEPUFF!”. There’s a moment of blank, then the black and yellow table starts cheering, and I follow their lead. Scorpius keeps a neutral expression, and a lot of whispers can be heard. </span>
  <span>The older students next to me also feel the need to comment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “</span>
  <span>A Malfoy? In Hufflepuff? I know someone who will get disowned pretty soon, I tell you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe it’s a strategy from his dad, like that everyone will forget that he’s a Deatheater.”</p><p> </p><p>Just listening to them makes me angry, but one of them, at least, who seems to be kind of their leader, judging by how much the others listen to him smooths things over a bit.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah okay guys, but remember that his dad has been acquitted and his grand-mother saved Harry Potter’s life, that’s something.”</p><p> </p><p>I try not to pay more attention to my “seniors” stupidity and try to see how Scorpius is surviving his Sorting. He sat at around the same place as me at his is table, and even with the Ravenclaw table between us, I notice that he’s next to the girl who was with him and the Potter twins earlier. I didn’t even see her getting Sorted. All the better for him, I guess.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          The Sorting keeps on going smoothly until Flitwick calls “Potter, Albus!”. One of the twins steps forward and sits under the Sorting Hat. I laugh to myself thinking that if they swapped place no one will ever know, except for the Sorting hat. I wonder if it would say if it was the case… Anyway, after a short waiting time, compared to Scorpius’ Sorting, the Hat renders its verdict: “Slytherin!”. The same unbelieving silence as after Scorpius’ Sorting falls on the Great Hall, that the snakes break rather fast, cheering loudly. I take part to the applause, of course, ignoring the disappointed remarks that some of my neighbours are sharing. A lot of students are laughing incredulously while clapping their hands, seemingly thinking “Are they all going to do that this year?”. I even see some money changing hands, apparently some placed “some “easy m</span>
  <span>oney</span>
  <span>” </span>
  <span>bets”</span>
  <span> and lost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          Eventually, the Sorting comes to an end. </span>
  <span>A</span>
  <span>nd even if it has been distracting, I’m happy to finally be able to eat. Well… So to speak, since before that the headmistress, M</span>
  <span>c</span>
  <span>Gonagall, gives us a short welcome speech and introduces us to the teachers. I recognize some of them from the books. Besides Hagrid, McGonagall, and Flitwick, there’s also Neville Longbottom, head of Gryffindor, and H</span>
  <span>erbology</span>
  <span> teacher. Daphne Greengrass, Scorpius’ mother, head of Slytherin and History of Magic teacher. Firenze, who doesn’t take part to the feast but will be our Divination teacher. And last but not least Ginny Potter, the twins’ mother, who isn’t there as well but will apparently be our Flight teacher. Sounds promising! I’m happy that Neville is my head of House, he was always one of my favourite Harry Potter characters. I wonder how he will be in real life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          Finally, FINALLY, the meal appears, and I take a bit from everything. I always loved tasting new dishes. I eat with my left hand, I keep on practising being ambidextrous since I’m young, and I’m doing quite well. Nobody speaks to me, and I’m happy f</span>
  <span>or</span>
  <span> it. A lot of conversations </span>
  <span>are about the Potter twins and Scorpius’ Sorting. People are simply unable to accept that children aren’t their parents, or that they “dare” break with family traditions… I discover the pumpkin juice’s taste, it’s odd but not bad, rather sweet and unexpected. I don’t touch Butterbeer, I don’t like the smell at all. The dishes eventually disappear, and I realize I haven’t eaten that much since my previous life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>xxx</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Obscurité totale qui effraie et qui noie<br/></em>
  <em>Un havre de paix, mon chez-moi<br/></em>
  <em>Alors que vous vous parez de lumières pour affronter la nuit<br/></em>
  <em>Je me glisse dans le forêt sans peur et sans un bruit</em>
</p><p>
  <em><br/>La lune est presque trop lumineuse<br/></em>
  <em>Pour ma rigueur taiseuse<br/></em>
  <em>Je ne suis pas heureuse<br/></em>
  <em>Je suis creuse</em>
</p><p>x</p><p>
  <em>Complete darkness which scares and drowns<br/></em>
  <em>A safe heaven, my home<br/></em>
  <em>When you adorn yourselves with light to face the night<br/></em>
  <em>I slip into the forest with no fear without a noise</em>
</p><p>
  <em><br/>The moon is almost too bright<br/></em>
  <em>For my silent rigour<br/></em>
  <em>I’m not happy<br/></em>
  <em>I’m empty</em>
</p><p> </p><p>-Draft in a notebook belonging to Aurore Berger, kept by Quentin Lemage after her death-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, what do you think of the Sorting?</p><p>See ya</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. How to be hated, a tutorial</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey!</p><p>Here's a new chapter where you'll be able to see a display of Vivian's incredible social skills.<br/>Thanks for the kudos, Redqueen1239 ^^</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>          A prefect calls all the first years at my table, and I o</span>
  <span>bediently</span>
  <span> follow him. He introduces himself as Carris Johnson. We start walking and a girl slightly younger than him, also wearing a prefect badge on her chest, joins him. We follow them through a labyrinth of stairs and corridors, and I really like the decoration. The speaking paintings are a bit strange, but I find it cool. I try to remember the path we’re talking, and I think I’m more or less succeeding. I will know tomorrow morning if I did, I guess. If the answer is no, maybe someone will find my bones somewhere in the castle after I’ll have died of hunger…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          We finally arrive in front of a big portrait, like in the books. It’s the “Fat Lady”. The password is “Bravery”, and I wonder who is the dumbass who picked it. If it would have been me, I’d have gone for something funny like “Please not school again” or “Chemnashaovirodaintrachivu”, or even “Damn, I forgot the password” (t</span>
  <span>hat one</span>
  <span> would have been more risky). But at least not something in the House thematic! Anyway, the portrait lets us all in, but only after carefully looking at us. It felt like a general, or a teacher, trying to guess who will be a nice pupil/soldier and who they will have to discipline.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>The common room is similar to what is described in the books. It’s decorated in warm reds and gold, with several sofas, a chimney, tall windows and just a few books. Two stairs go up in the tower, one towards the boys’ dormitories, one towards the girls’. Me and the other girls my age follow the girl prefect as she leads us to our dormitory. We are eight First Year girls, all supposed to sleep at the same place! I already know I will hate that, but well, as if I was allowed to open my mouth. There’s space, that’s true, and each of us has a four-poster bed with silencing spells to help us sleep. Our trunks are already there, and I decide to take the bed closest to the window, at the end of the room, but a brat runs past me to throw herself on the bed just as I’m about to sit.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>          She will never know how bad I wanted to hit her before throwing her to the ground, because I contain myself. I turn away with dignity to see that all the other beds have been taken, except one at the very end of the room, next to the door. At least I won’t be totally surrounded by people, it just wouldn’t have been possible. I retrieve my trunk and put it next to my bed in order to keep an eye on it and have a kind of nightstand. I then find the toilets, and change clothes fast. I won’t survive for lon</span>
  <span>g</span>
  <span> with so little privacy. Did they never hear that it’s healthy to have personal space? Oh, I hate it so much. I lie down in my bed to read. At least, it’s comfortable. I take out a book that I brought, a fantasy novel, and try to delve into the history, but the kids giggling around me get on my nerves and prevent me from relaxing, </span>
  <span>since the silencing charm only works with closed curtains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>I close the curtains of my bed in an attempt to get some peace, but they filter the light a bit too well for me to be able to read. I tell myself that at least it gives me an excuse to learn a new spell, even if I’m not really in the mood. I draw my curtains open to retrieve my Daily Life spellbook. I’m sure I’ve seen something to create a night-light, a small light…</p><p> </p><p>“Yo! Yo! What’s her name? Oh yes! Oy, Vivian Eris!”</p><p> </p><p>I raise my head to see who is calling me, even I’m already not motivated. I see that it’s a small red haired girl sitting on a bed with half of the girls from our dorm.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Vivian.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, don’t be like that” she says, in a super annoying hitch-pitched voice “Don’t you want to join us and talk with us rather than wasting your time in a book? The courses haven’t even started yet!”</p><p> </p><p>“No thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>If I politely decline, they will leave me in peace, right? No. The red-hair takes an even higher voice, and insists.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on Vivian, tell us about you, what do you enjoy doing beside reading? And more importantly, what do you think of Carris Johnson?”</p><p> </p><p>I put my books back in my trunk, since I’m apparently not allowed to read for now, and sit on my bed, turning towards them.</p><p> </p><p>“The prefect? Not much, I didn’t really pay attention to him, why?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s super hot! But he’s in sixth year… We were wondering how to make him notice me. Since you’re reading a bunch of books, don’t you have some ideas?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s not my thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you mean you’re gay?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I mean that you’re all far too young to worry about such things, and that I don’t give a fuck. So thank you for you generosity to be willing to integrate me to your group, but I’m not interested, sorry. As for introducing myself, I’m Vivian and I love reading in peace.”</p><p> </p><p>xxx</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>« </em>
  <em>Haïr les gens est une perte de temps. Il ne méritent pas ça. Les haïr sur le moment, ne pas apprécier leur compagnie, oui. Mais haïr quelqu'un personnellement, c'est usant, et ça demande de l'implication. Ça donne de l'importance à cette personne pour rien. »</em>
</p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Hating people is a waste of time. They don’t deserve that. Hating them for the moment, not appreciating their company, sure. But hating someone personally, it’s exhausting, it requires involvement. It gives importance to the person for nothing.”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
  <span>Extract from a SMS sent to Quentin Lemage by Aurore Berger, two months before her death-</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you liked this chapter, let me know what you thought of the insane social interactions :p<br/>Btw what she says to her roommates is exactly how I would have reacted at her age xD</p><p>See you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Day 1: They already know that I'm not normal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys!</p><p>Here's a new chapter, thanks for the kudos! Unfortunately, my beta has a computer problem so this chapter hasn't been corrected. I hope there's no huge mistake in it. For next updates, you'll have to wait until my beta will be back!</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I got woken up at fucking SIX am, despite breakfast starting at seven, by the dormitories lights already turned on for some unknown reason. Actually, the worst is the dumbass hitting my bed while trying to exit the room. A silencing spell to make sure we can sleep? Who are they kidding? Since I know I won’t be able to go back to sleep anyway, I wake up. I draw my curtains and find out that almost everyone in my room is awake, and most of the kids are in the bathroom. That’s what I see when trying desperately to clear myself a way to the toilet through the giggling masses regrouped around the mirrors…</p><p> </p><p>I take refuge in the bedroom, and take advantage of the intimacy offered by my bed’s curtains to quickly put some clothes on… At least that’s what I attempt to do, but just as I’m finishing to put my shirt on a girl draws the curtains open. She doesn’t have the time to tell anything, because it’s too much for me and I yell at her:</p><p> </p><p>“FUCK YOU! LEAVE ME ALONE YOU CUNT! GODDAMMIT! CAN I GET DRESSED IN PEACE??? YOU HAVE ANY IDEA OF WHAT PRIVACY IS???”</p><p> </p><p>Wow. Three swear words in so little sentences, that must be a record for me. But on the other hand, I’m infuriated, and exhausted. The girl remains stunned for a minute in the face of my fury, then yells back:</p><p> </p><p>“YOU’RE SUCH A BITCH!”</p><p> </p><p>She then instantly runs away crying, and that’s for the best. I really don’t know what I could have done to her otherwise, with all that anger in me.</p><p> </p><p>I take my school bag, puts in the novel I’m reading, my notebook, then realize that I don’t know what books I’ll need for my classes. In doubt, I take everything, I don’t feel like coming back here if I can avoid it. I tidy my wand in my trousers’ pocket, put my cape on and my favourite scarf (blue and white). I’m too annoyed to manage to tie my tie knot so I just put it in another pocket then finally flee far from the silly geese talking behind my back. I’m glad I picked a lockable trunk, or else I wouldn’t have dared letting it alone in the dormitory. I’m sure that no one will find the password, “Quentin”, since it’s a first name, French, and that no one knows me…</p><p> </p><p>Even before reaching the bottom of the stairs in the common room I know how I’ll be spending the time left before breakfast: learning the Lightening spell. My bag is definitively too heavy. It would be cool if I could find a bag like Hermione’s, which can store a seemingly infinite among of things. But it must be costly… I get out of the still deserted common room, and walk towards the great hall. It seems like I memorized the path well, because I recognize several benchmarks of mine on my way. Since it’s still super early I stop before reaching my goal and enter a seemingly empty room. It’s quite small, with a dusty window located behind a desk that makes me think that this place has maybe been a teacher’s office, a while ago. I put my bag on it, and find the page in my book about the Lightening spell.</p><p> </p><p>After some time I realize that I have no idea how late it is, and I decide to go to the great hall, just in case. Thanks to my training, my bag is already way easier to carry, and I reach my goal smoothly. The room is almost empty, and I figure out that it isn’t seven yet probably. I still sit at Gryffindor’s table, since I’m already there, and I look up in my books the formula to know what time it is. According to my memories, it must be “Tempus”. I find it easily, and since it’s an easy spell I get to work instantly. My first successes come quickly, and I stop practising when food appears.</p><p> </p><p>I eat quickly, because with the food, unfortunately, come the pupils as well. Fortunately, the girls from my dorm aren’t among the first people to arrive, and I can finish eating in peace. Nobody tries to speak with me. Some teachers arrive as well, and one of them asks me to remain in the Great Hall until someone gives me my schedule. That’s just my luck… Well, since I have nothing to do, I tell myself I could cut to distract myself while waiting and get some of the frustration I accumulated out. But while I’m trying to get my blade from my notebook I can hear someone calling out my name, and I barely have the time to get my hand out of my bag before a wild Arthur appears and clumsily takes me in his arms. I instantly tense up, but he waits a few seconds before letting me go.</p><p> </p><p>“I missed you, Vivian! I saw you yesterday evening, but I couldn’t come and talk with you since you left with you prefect. How are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>He sounds super enthusiastic, and I let out a sigh before smiling in spite of myself.</p><p> </p><p>“Good morning to you too. I will be better if the bimbos from my dorm didn’t feel the unstoppable need to wake me up at six but yep. Still alive. And yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>Before answering, Arthur sits next to me on the bench while another guy, in an impeccable Slytherin uniform sits in front of him. The unknown guy is slightly smaller than Arthur, he has black hair that almost reach his shoulders, but perfectly coiffed. He has attentive grey eyes and his face, despite being finely drawn, gives an impression of firmness. Instinctively, I feel that this guy is dangerous for me. He gives the impression of not letting any detail escape his attention. He scares me, but at the same time he seems interesting.</p><p> </p><p>By comparing the Slytherin with Arthur, I realize that the latter changed quite a lot since the last time we met. First of all, he grew up so much he’s now taller than me by at least 30 good centimetres (and that despite the fact that last time I checked I was one meter forty-eight tall (and a half!)). He is lanky, his body lost its last childish outlines, but his cheeks remained slightly chubby. His curly, dark chestnut hair is cut short, and his green eyes are still warm. At this instant, he painfully reminds me of Quentin. He looks quite much like him physically, now. I push the pain away to listen to the answer of my… “friend”.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m glad to be back in Hogwarts. Not for the classes, mark well, even if most of them are interesting. But well, even if I enjoy meeting with my family, my friends are here. And I was looking forward to seeing you! Talking about friends, let me introduce you to Ewald. We met in the Hogwarts Express and he’s my best friend!”</p><p> </p><p>I shake hands with the Slytherin facing me. He smiles slightly and I can feel it’s sincere.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to meet you. Arthur told me a lot of good about you. I was curious to meet you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to meet you as well”, I say, and to my surprise I’m almost honest, because this dude looks interesting and he’s for now not treating me as a kid. “It’s not that I want to get rid of you, but aren’t we supposed to sit by House?”</p><p> </p><p>“Only for official banquets, nice try” retorts Arthur “On the other hand I can assure that wearing a tie is mandatory during the week.”</p><p> </p><p>I grumble a bit, but take my crumpled tie out of my pocket, while Ewald starts eating his breakfast. I unwillingly tidy my scarf in my bag, and adjust the torture device-my tie- around my neck, ignoring the impulse driving me to tightening it excessively just to see how far I’d go, and when my body would force me to stop choking myself. Arthur then casts a spell that instantly smooths my tie while a giggling group of girls from my dorm enter the room. When they pass behind me I can hear them whispering aggressively (yes, it’s possible) and I can feel their eyes on me. If Arthur doesn’t pay attention to that I have the feeling that Ewald noticed. That guy makes me paranoid. Well, more than I already am.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, after about then additional minutes that I spend socialising well in spite of myself with my seven year mates, socialization largely limited by the fact that the said mates are eating, Neville Longbottom appears and brings me by schedule.</p><p> </p><p>It’s strange for me to see him that closely. I wouldn’t have recognized him if he wouldn’t have been introduced yesterday evening. He politely greets my two mates, and puts in a word about some homework. I deduce that they’re still taking Herbology. My Head of House is quite tall, he has a nice and open face. He looks a bit like Arthur, minus the freckles. Anyway, I’ll need a bit of time to get used to his avatar, but I liked his character in the Harry Potter series, so I think I will keep on appreciating him. I thank him for my schedule, and he moves away.</p><p> </p><p>Once he left I check my schedule. I have Tuesdays and Thursdays entirely free, that’s super. Time for myself, far from the fools, time to learn. I like this idea. Well, in return my Mondays and Wednesdays are completely full, but it’s fine. On Friday I have only a few classes, including flying. I can’t wait to finally try. Since it’s already time to go to class, I don’t really have the time to talk about it with the Seven Years, but apparently such a schedule is normal. I start with History of Magic… It’s one of the few books I haven’t read yet, so I don’t really know what to expect.</p><p> </p><p>I wonder if they exorcised Binns by now. I didn’t really pay attention to the teachers yesterday evening, I don’t remember McGo introducing new ones. Part of me hopes that the ghost is no longer a teacher, because according to the books’ descriptions, his courses sound boring, but another part of me is curious. Maybe a ghost would have informations that could help me understanding why I’m alive. Anyway. I greet Arthur and Ewald who are hurrying to finish eating, and I cast a lighting spell on my bag before walking to my first magic class.</p><p> </p><p>« <em>Le don le plus précieux que j'ai reçu</em></p><p>
  <em>Une amitié inattendue</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Un cadeau inespéré</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Une malédiction pour m'empêcher de crever</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Quelque chose de différent</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Quelque chose d'important</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ta présence est un présent</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mais je ne crois plus pourtant »</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>The most precious gift I ever received</em></p><p>
  <em>An unexpected friendship</em>
</p><p>
  <em>An unhoped for present</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A curse to prevent me from dying</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Something different</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Something important</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your presence is a present</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yet I don’t believe any more”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>-Poem sent by Aurore Berger to Quentin Lemage, two weeks before her death-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's it! Please leave kudos and comments (I love to interact with my readers)<br/>See you!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And that's it for this chapter, I hope it triggered your curiosity. I'd be glad to have constructive feedback!<br/>See you soon!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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